The 401278th Intergalactic Supremacy Pie Competition of Doom
by 100PercentHalfwayThere
Summary: Every year, the most prosperous planets in the universe, which constitute its majority, are wagered in the form of a deadly, empire-changing... pie competition. And every year, the Irken Empire places 2nd.
1. Prologue: A Most Unfortunate Beginning

**The 401278th Intergalactic Supremacy Pie Competition of Doom**

"Hand me the tweezers."

"A 'please' would be nice."

"_Please hand me the tweezers!_"

"I don't appreciate your tone."

"Purple! Do you have any idea how important this is!?"

"Fine, take the stupid things..." Purple muttered. "It's too hot in here!" he complained, gesturing to the brightly lit, cramped room the two occupied, which was designated in the last minutes of the Massive's construction next to its huge, blisteringly hot engine room. It looked rather similar to the typical Earth kitchen, but this should hardly be surprising, seeing as that wasn't the only glaring similarity between humans and Irkens. Both used tweezers, for instance, although for very different purposes.

Red twitched at the complaint, his concentration broken. "_Would you kindly shut up._"

"Hmph. I guess I just won't speak to you then," Purple proclaimed, turning melodramatically on the co-leader of the Irken Empire. He realized he was uncomfortably close to the refrigerator, and sidled awkwardly to a more spacious area.

"That's perfect! That's exactly what I've been asking you to do since we began this; I said, "if you're not going to help assimilate the _most important thing ever_, then shut up and hand me things!"

Silence. Red set aside the tweezers momentarily. He had to make sure he'd mixed every piece in just the right quantity, with everything exactly where he wanted it. The Empire all but depended on it.

"Is it done?"

"Almost," Red replied, a slight gasp of awe barely tucked in his throat. His frustration evaporated as he carefully laid the bread across his work's- nay, his _masterpiece's_- sugary insides. "There. Purple? Fetch me the oven..."

"It's right in front you. Right there, see? It's right-" Purple repeated, pointing ineffectively.

"I see it! I see it I see it!" Red hissed, pounding the flimsy card table his creation rested on. His attention instantly turned back however as the force caused the pie to wobble; a meager amount of the sugary goodness spilled out of the holes in the crust. "No. No. NO!" Red was on the verge of tears; his opus tainted evermore.

His sadness quickly shifted to anger, which quickly shifted the pie face-down onto the floor.

"Get a damn intern in here to clean this up."

Red continued to stew in the hours that followed, resting comfortably in his office on his Vort-imported couch. This would have been a difficult task if Purple was not detained on the bridge, for, like most things, the two shared an office, or rather divided one. The room was almost spherical, and split down the middle into a purple and red section. For fun once, the two had decided to sit on the opposite-colored part of the room before realizing that it wasn't really any fun at all. Another time, an Irken drone decided to sit in the room for fun. He was let out of the airlock. The Massive, being large enough to retain its own orbit, soon picked the body up. For fun once, the Tallests threw cans at him before realizing that they were just throwing them at the window, and quickly decided that wasn't much fun either.

The two sides of the room had two different chairs and two different desks, both purchased at Conventia's annual furniture convention. They had two huge TV's overhanging the door on opposite sides; they once split one large one in half with disastrous results. The door, on the other hand, was only to let in the Tallests, anyone with any news who tried to enter was put to work in the Infinite Chamber of Screaming Air Conditioners Unit, an inescapable pit buried deep within the Massive which Zim had escaped from twice.

In fact, much of the office (or offices) was a tribute to the twosome's might, from the ice statues which melted hundreds of times a year (the workers in the Infinite Chamber of Screaming Air Conditioners Unit were, in a word, grumpy) to the huge snack larders of pirated goodies; entire planets were destroyed _for_ their snacks (while others were eaten _as_ snacks). While one of the two Tallests would occasionally commission the odd bigger ice statue to provoke petty arguments, they were generally united in starving the Irken economy for their own personal gain. Yet one of the Tallests, in all his greed, desired even more.

Which was why Red was so intent on baking pies.

4 Irken years he'd been Tallest, with one unsuccessful invasion and another one pending. In the 13 prior to that he'd been raised as a soldier, and had conquered at least twenty planets for his Empire. His Empire spat upon him for his height time and again for years, of course, but his current living situation more than compensated for that. In fact, he would have been a happy Irken if not for one thing: his Empire was second.

The Valusians were to be blamed for that. Valus Prime Figgins could be blamed for that. But deep down, Red knew it was the pies. And Red's pies were always second. 50 long Valusian years he'd been runner up to that ass in the Intergalactic Supremacy Pie Competition, and for 50 years Valus kept control of the best ports, the best planets, and the largest agricultural and economic centers in the known universe, as were wagered each year.

No more. Red wasn't going to live in his self-proclaimed squalor any longer. He was no longer content with his one unsuccessful invasion and another one pending.

Purple was rather content with his one unsuccessful invasion and another one pending. So far during his reign, he'd eaten a lot of planets, and a lot of other snacks besides. Plus he got to torture the smaller Irkens under his command. Besides, he thought, the Irken Empire was the second best Empire in the galaxy. In its early days, even before the Intergalactic Supremacy Pie Competition began, the planet Irk, facing severe overpopulation and pollution problems, sent an army to Lark, its neighboring planet in the tiny galaxy the two inhabited. And from those two planets the Irken Empire spawned. An Empire, Purple reflected, that had done nothing but grow in the years to come. An Empire that had lived and thrived for over 200 Irken years. So what if the Valusian Empire was bigger, or if the Vortians continued to clamor for independence? So what if Red got second place in the stupid pie competition?

"Incoming transmission from Invader Zim," a drone informed the Tallest. Every empire did have flaws, after all.

Purple rubbed the Irken equivalent of a forehead (known as the Ixlasnu, which translates literally as "thing above the eyes"). "Red, quit sulking and get out here!" Then to the drone: "Put him through."

Zim was not interested in the machinations of the Irken Empire. In fact, he knew nothing about them. He, along with the rest of the invaders, were kept blind to the rather obvious shortcomings of their leaders, and as a result Zim was very interested in them. In fact, he knew almost everything about them. It was very creepy.

"My Tallests!" he greeted his leaders with a ceremonious bow. Red had entered the frame of Zim's giant communications monitor. "Why, Tallest Red, you look... different."

Zim was not used to change.

"What do you mean?" Red asked.

"Well usually around this time your head is inclined at a level degree, and your eyelids bear further down on your eyes. Also, your skin looks paler. Is something wrong?"

"Shut up you freak," Red demanded. The Tallests were not very interested in Zim and were especially put off by his encyclopedic knowledge of their mannerisms. Zim smiled at the compliment.

"He's just frustrated because his p-"

"Shut up Purple! He's not supposed to know!"

"Know what?" Zim asked innocently. "Are you calling to promote me?!"

"You called us Zim. Why did you have to do that?" Red asked, irritated.

"Ah yes, the matter at hand," Zim snapped to attention, his tone business-like. From the corner of his comically over-sized communication hall he produced a 4'*5' tri-fold poster board and, unfolding it, held it up in front of the screen. It was, in what looked like chalk, titled 'Zim's Awsum Plan of dum.'

"Amazing, is it not?!"

"What is it?" Purple asked, not paying attention.

"It is the most amazing plan my gorgeous Zim-brain has ever Zim-thought of. ZIM!" he concluded.

"What does it do."

"I have told you of the Dib. For this plan to work, I need a giant tank to blow his filthy fat head up!"

"Uh-huh. How will this help you conquer Earth again?"

"Dib is the leader of the investigation against me!" Zim proclaimed, paranoid.

"He's got spies in the TREES!" GIR responded from somewhere offscreen.

"Sorry Zim, no tanks. You remember what happened last time..." Red intoned.

Zim had what he would've called a sudden Zim flashback of Zim. He saw himself driving through the city with his fleet of tanks, newly won from his Hobo-13 excursion after he avoided that unfortunate accident with the autopilot and the sun. He remembered the looks of fear and disbelief as he led his programmed fleet like a conductor in a parade. Then something happened which couldn't have been avoided, and all of the tanks blew up. A small murmur arose amongst those watching the nightmarish parade, then they resumed whatever it was they were doing before it had begun.

"That cost us hundreds of moneys on shipping alone."

"But that was my plan all along!"

"Towards what goal?"

"Eh..." Zim looked off, embarrassed. "To disrupt the peace!"

"Whatever Zim. We're hanging up now."

"WAIT! I have so much more to show you!" Zim pleaded, pointing fervently at his posterboard to no avail. The screen went black, and Zim's further requests for communication weren't approved. It was not dissimilar to the numerous messages a disgruntled man or woman makes to their ex. Two days later, he gave up trying to contact his leaders.

Zim was potentially the most dangerous anomaly the Irken Empire had ever dealt with: a stupid, destructive, pompous, maniacal beast of a creature whose tenacity was the only thing keeping him in the company of the elite. He'd singlehandedly ended Impending Doom, escaped Foodcourtia twice, caused two blackouts on Irk and the death of Tallest Miyuki. If he was at all self-aware of his actions, he might actually be considered a highly effective tool against Irk by its many enemies.

At the moment, the anomaly was depressed. He kicked his posterboard pathetically before lying on the ground, tired. He'd spent so many hours coming up with that, his greatest plan. Though less than 1 Earth year had passed, Zim felt drained of ideas. Even brains greater than his- if any existed- would be creatively spent, he decided.

The Dib was to be blamed of course. Every attempt, every effort of his was spoiled by that miserable flesh stink monkey. Yet part of Zim blamed the Tallests. His leaders were mighty and blessed by Tall-y, the un-creatively named god of size, whom the Irken priests of old spoke of before all religion was dismissed, but at the same time they always denied him the proper resources to quash the Dib, and the Earth with him. He remembered denying on of these requests as if it had happened only two days ago.

The more Zim dwelled on this thought, the angrier he became. How dare they question the intelligence, the very greatness of Zim! Obviously they had not been listening to how foolproof his plan was.

"If they won't answer my calls, I'll just have to demand my tank to their faces!" Zim stood up, a manic, reckless smile lining his face. "GIR!" GIR snapped to attention. "Prepare the Voot Cruiser. We leave for the Massive immediately. Minimoose!" the moose thing meeped in recognition. "Watch the base."

"Ointment!" GIR replied lackadaisically, then set off down the hall to the Voot hangar. Minimoose meeped.

Zim sighed, then quietly followed GIR down the hallway. This was going to be a long trip.


	2. 1: A Tale of Woe in Three Parts

The 401278th Intergalactic Supremacy Pie Competition of Doom

Chapter 1: A tale of woe in three parts

_Part the first: the pointless anecdote of Carl_

Carl was irritated. He had been a free Vortian for 33 Vortian years (about the equivalent of a 60 year old Irken), so the hostile takeover of his planet by Vort's once-ally the Irken Empire really bugged him.

"Did you hear that the Irkens took us over?" he complained to his friend Jeb Ndis.

"Hmm," he grunted, returning to his schematics. Carl was nonplussed. Jeb really was the brains of the two; if anything, he should have been more concerned than Carl. Of course, being Vortians, both had twice the intelligence of the average human in the fields of engineering and couch-making, and four times that of their new lords and masters.

"That really irritates me! Why are you so casual about this?" Carl prodded his friend.

"Dude, the Irkens pretty much forced labor out of us all throughout the Irken-Vort wars. How many of these Vortian ships-" at this he pointed to his blueprint- "do you think actually went to the Vortians?"

"Well, none of them, 'cuz we were making them for the Irkens to fight off the Vortian scourge!"

Even with all their math and science skills, Vortians are infamous for their lack of logic in political situations.

"Exactly," Jeb sighed.

The next day at the shipbuilding plant (where Carl served as a shipbuilder for his new oppressors) Carl continued to be bothered by this new development. While on a meal break (the Vortian work day being about 37 Earth hours) he glanced over the scrapyard, and somewhere within him the spark of rebellion struck.

"What are you working on?" Jeb asked once. "That doesn't look like any of my designs."

"That's a funny looking ship," a fellow engineer, Creet Nash , commented.

"Oh blessed Tall-y, that smells awful!" Marj Nel once complained. But Carl still plugged away.

In less than a Vortian month it was finished. "I've done it!" Carl raved. "I've built the worst ship the Armada could possibly still find acceptable! I'd hate to be the poor sucker who has to pilot one of these!"

_Part the second: the perfect pie_

Zim was the poor sucker who had to pilot that thing, and was currently piloting it through space to the Massive. Four days out, and he still hadn't glimpsed the Massive. His Tallests, not willing to give out that information freely to many invaders, let alone Zim, had given its location away through the reflections of planets in their eyes. Zim thought they had very pretty eyes.

Red was up to his old pie-making tricks again: slaughtering innocent Gromling slaves for the amusement of the Irken smeets.

"It's nice to see you back to your old self again," Purple patted him encouragingly on the shoulder.

"Yeah, I just thought, the contest isn't for another two weeks, so why worry?" Red, a big grin on his face, slowly cut open a Gromling. It flopped desperately as it bled out. The smeets cheered.

"I wuv you," one such smeet so-adorably-you-could-kill-a-Gromling-ly hugged Red around his knees.

"RED ALERT! RED ALERT!" sirens began to blare all across the Massive "Defective emotions exhibited. Repeat:-" the smeet was dragged off by Irken sentinels, crying and screaming as it went. It was probably going to the Infinite Chamber of Screaming Air Conditioners, or possibly the Underground Classroom. Those two hells were ever so permeable. What a poor soul.

The alarm was cut in a split second and everybody forgot about the smeet. Red killed another Gromling. "WHEEE!" the children cheered. All the same, Red felt guilty. Not for the Gromlings, of course, that would be stupid. For the pie competition! It was in only two weeks and he hadn't begun work on a second pie! Worse yet, he'd received a call from Figgins just that morning...

_"Hey Red!"_

_ "Go to Smallyplace Figgins!" _(note: Smally was the anti-Tall-y)

_"I just thought I'd let you know I've spent all year on nothing but my pie!"_

_ "Isn't that bad for your Empire?"_

_ "Yes, we are in an awful, awful, awful..." he paused to shake his head. It looked like he was about to cry. "Just awful economic crisis. But I shall prevail over your pie! You just wait! In fact, I'm so confident I've decided to give you a recipe of my own to try out!"_

_ "Really?" Red was quite desperate._

_ "Yeah: Loser-pie!"_

_ Red was not lost on the stupidity of this statement. "What does it taste like?"_

_ "...losers. Fatty stupid losers!" Figgins guffawed for effect._

_ "I might as well bake you into it," Red replied dryly._

_ "You're stupid!" Figgins said angrily. His immature nature was beautifully offset by his inexplicable French accent. He hung up, offended at Red's cleverness._

"Damn his culinary wisdom!" Red hissed, turning abruptly from the Gromlings. "I WILL CRUSH HIS PIE!" he screamed, frightening the little smeets.

"Literally? 'Cuz that could solve all your problems right there," a very sensible and soon-to-be dead Gromling spoke.

"No, that's cheating!" Red retorted. The Intergalactic Supremacy Pie Competition's rules and dictums were upheld quite staunchly by all parties involved. At that he stormed off in a huff. The smeets returned to killing each other as part of their mandatory psychological scarring. Purple munched on a small planet.

"No, no, no NO!" Red punched the filthy Raspberry-pie. One bite in and he was already offended. Then again, Irkens don't like raspberries. Or pies. It was a miracle they placed so high in the competitions, really.

"Our race doesn't like pies, remember?" Purple pointed out. "Maybe we should hire a taste-tester."

Luckily Vortians love pies. Luckily Vortians were very attainable to Irkens. So Dee the Vortian was appointed to taste the pie.

"Bloody 'ell! That pie was delicious!" he spoke. The Tallests giggled at his funny accent. Dee was so offended that he was killed for quitting, and his opinion disregarded.

Red was once again over the edge with anxiety and frustration. He was on his third pie: Whipcream-pie. His last pie had been Blueberry-pie, but he'd (understandably) hated it too. "Taste this," he offered to Purple.

"Augh!" Purple wretched, spitting his piece all over the floor. Pie was, in fact, a form of poison to some Irkens. "Well, I hate it. Dee, what do you think?"

"My name's not Dee. I'll never be Dee!" the new taste-tester burst into tears. Purple knelt down.

"It's not your fault. It's not your fault."

"SHUT UP AND TASTE THE PIE!"

Not-Dee did as he was told. "I like it. But it could use some raspberries. And blueberries would be good with it.

"Ohhhhh," the Tallests replied bemusedly in unison.

_Part the third: Zim arrives on the Massive_

"My Tallests!" Zim saluted as a link was established between his ship's communications screen and the Massive's bridge.

"Hiyeahgreat what do you want?" Red asked. It had been two days since the completion of Perfect-pie. "And in a week and a half they'll all want an extra slice!" he cried malevolently to no one in particular.

"The Zim wants the delicious boarding the Massive meats!" Zim exclaimed.

"Oh, you mean the meat we give new arrivals on the Massive?" Purple asked, dispelling what would have otherwise been a nonsensical Zim-metaphor. "Wait a minute... no! Zim, where are you?"

"I'm right outside!" Zim smiled.

"How did you get this location?" Red demanded, concerned.

"Are you not impressed by my great knowledge? Are my navigation skills not astounding?!" Zim patted himself on the back.

"Well Zim, we don't hate to do this, but we're going to have to sic the Armada on you, sooooo..." Purple's voice trailed off.

"Awk-waaaard," Jeffrey, a passing intern, said in a sing-song tone.

"SHUT UP JEFFREY! I WILL MURDER YOUR FAMILY!"

It should be noted that Irkens do not have families.

A thrilling space battle ensued. The Voot dodged right and left, lasers firing haphazardly at the oncoming fleet.

"Gee, what a thrilling space battle!" Zim cried delightedly, having sandwiched himself between the two Tallests.

"Wh-b-how-you-Ziiiim?!" the Tallests' voices crescendoed in unison on the last beat, obviously flabbergasted at this bit of teleportation.

"How are you here? And who's flying your ship?" Red exclaimed.

…...

"WHEEEEEEEEE! Hi doggy!" GIR screamed, causing the Voot to barrel roll and dart between the various Ring Cutters and Shuvvers.

…...

"How did I get here? Well, it's a long and glorious tale of Zim..." at this Zim strolled away from his leaders. "You s- AAAAAAH!" Zim tripped over nothing, putting all his weight on his foot-toe. "Oh the pain! The horrible, dooming pain! Oh what a tale of woe!" he hissed.

A second later he brushed himself off and began his glorious tale...


	3. 2: Preparations, or Pie in the Sky

The 401278th Intergalactic Supremacy Pie Competition of Doom

Chapter 2: Preparations, or Pie in the Sky

_ Part 1: GIR faces the Armada and a Great Sequence of Events is set in motion_

"You see, my Tallests, I-"

"Shut up Zim! Your crappy little robot is destroying our fleet of ships!"

GIR zipped between his assailants. Maniacally pressing buttons had worked so far for it, and the shiny yellow one was especially fun because explosions happened when you pushed it.

GIR, of course, was completely removed from the equation of Serious Irken Politics, even more so than the blindsided invaders. He was, in a word, dysfunctional. Any evaluation by a Vortian technician would see him decommissioned and stripped for parts. In fact, the robot whose parts he'd been rebuilt from, LYLE (acronym unknown), whose remains had been assembled from a garbage can, as one might recall, had been a wonderful assistant to the great Invaders of Yore (the invaders who conquered the planet Yore in Tallest Screw's Great Widening operation). Then the Unfortunate Thing happened, where a group of crazed, CSAC (Chamber of Screaming Air Conditioners, before the Inifinite part) workers sought revenge on all machinery. In the process, LYLE was destroyed and dumped in a garbage can.

And now the once great SIR unit had a marble, 1/100th of an Irken money, a paper clip, and lint for a brain.

Regardless, GIR was surviving, much to the amusement and simultaneous horror of its creators.

"WHEEE! Giddyup piggy!" GIR gnashed its mouth together amusedly.

"What is he doing? He's going to destroy the entire armada!" Red moaned.

"Sir, this ship has lasers, we can-"

"Quiet Jeffrey! We're trying to think!" Purple waved off the intern.

"WAIT! Jeffrey, you little insect-dirt, fire those lasers!" Zim bellowed suddenly.

"I'm not really in any position to-"

"QUIET! Someone who can, destroy that Voot Cruiser!" Zim replied, forgetting (or perhaps, in his refusal to admit the Tallests tried to kill him, didn't recognize that) the Cruiser was his, and that his very own robot was piloting it. Zim would of course done it himself, but if their was one thing Zim liked more than wanton destruction, it was ordering people around. One laser later, the cruiser was destroyed. It would have made a big explodey noise if it hadn't happened in space.

"Wow, sir, you gave an executive order superior to that of your commanders. Maybe our leaders shouldn't be decided by-"

"Shut up, Jeffrey. Every word out of you is like a filthy Dirt-pie!" Red barked.

"Yeah, shut up Jeffrey!" Zim retorted, grinning afterwards at his Tallests to show off his loyalty. Zim was, after all, very stupid.

"Well, jeez, that little robot took out a third of the fleet!" Purple remarked after finishing his Irken-insignia branded Soda.

(Not so fun fact: The Irken insignia, which appears on soda, Irken spacecraft, etc., was in fact designed by the ten members of the Irken Insignia Committee (IIC). They were, in no order whatsoever, Del, Dit, Zop, Vit, Fir, Dak, Pittacus Abquesios, Pip, Giy, and Larf. After designing the insignia, Pittacus murdered his colleagues so as to take all the credit. God, what a tragedy. He lived on to become Tallest Screw, predecessor to Miyuki's successor, Tallest Hannibal, over 100 Irken years before the Massive was built and brandished with Pittacus' creation. Look for Pittacus' cameo appearance later in the story!)

"My Tallests!" an Irken marched up to his leaders and saluted. "Word from the Armada- Soldier Roca is reportedly responsible for mobilizing the Armada against the Great Threat."

"Well he didn't do a very good job! And he didn't shoot him down. Pasa did. BY MY BRILLIANT COMMAND!" Zim pointed to one of the Irken drones manning a weapons console. His name was not Pasa.

"Then we shall promote Roca!" Purple said, ignoring Zim's oddly correct statement. The Irken saluted and marched off. Though the Irken Empire had a height-based monarchy, its institutions' higher ranks were (rather oddly) determined by merit. Except the ICSAC. There are no winners in hell.

"So now can my brilliant self get my tank?" Zim yelped.

"Well, Zim, you see..." Red tried to come up with a way to get Zim out of his hair. (note: Irkens do not have hair. Their scalps are very dry.) It was at that second successful Invader Larb (fresh off his recapturing of the increasingly rebellious planet Vort) walked onto the bridge (the only bathroom on the ship is located here). It was then Red had a brilliant plan. "You must pass the Invader Test!"

"What?" Purple asked.

"WHAT?!" Zim yipped. "I am fully qualified! I have passed all 15 levels of formal training at the Academy! I ranked 1st in my class!"

"You killed the rest of your class!"

"They fully recovered from that! Do you not remember that I was the youngest Invader in Impending Doom One, a year before I graduated as a result?!"

"Which you also wrecked! Besides, Larb over there had to take the test." Larb had exited the bathroom, zipping up his stomach.

"No I di- urg! Uff!" he grunted as two drones silently beat him.

"Fine then, what's the test?" Zim asked, defeated and irate.

"Um. Well, its... here!" Red crossed the room to a stack of papers. "Ow!" he whined, sustaining a paper cut as he picked up a piece (Irken paper was incredibly painful, being made from Irk's only plant, the appropriately accosting cactus-trees). He brandished the paper in front of Zim. "Fold this in half 10 times."

"Henh?" Zim stared blankly at the paper even as he grasped it. "Ow!" he spat, similarly cut by the rough material. "Well, if this will get me my tank, I'll do it!" I believe it's been mentioned before that Zim was an incredibly tenacious, despite (or perhaps because of) his shortsightedness.

"Alright, get back to us on that," Red patted Zim patronizingly on the head as the "invader" struggled on the eighth fold, to the point of literally wrestling with the piece of paper. The two Tallests waited until they were in their quarters and the door had slid shut before bursting into a peal of laughter.

_Part 2: Red prepares_

One interesting and must-know detail about the Intergalactic Supremacy Pie Competition- it was kept secret from everyone but the rulers of each Empire. This rule was put in place so as to ensure no random, rebellious individual tried to undermine his or her respective Empire and form their own by submitting a winning pie. Pies were banned throughout the Important Galaxies and pie-making was taught secretly to leaders as a result (taste-testers, such as Dee and not-Dee, were shot for these reasons).

Because of this, Red was prepping his and Purple's special Pie-Competition traversal spacecraft, known unofficially as the Pie in the Sky (Purple called it that once). Like the kitchen, this ship was hidden in the bowels of the ship, in a hole, underneath a blue tarp. A sign nearby warded others off by issuing the statement "WARNING: BLUE TARP AHEAD."

Irkens are deathly afraid of blue tarp, mostly because they did not know what it was. Irkens are trained from a very young age to fear (and in the case of Invaders, to destroy) the unknown.

Every year the Tallests excused themselves off the ship for a "diplomatic assembly with the great empirical powers" to allay any suspicion. This fake council was known as the Big Important Meeting, a name that was something of an in-joke amongst the great empire leaders. If the lesser territories switched hands (for the Valusians and Irkens placed first and second each year, respectively) symbolic, already determined wars would be briefly fought between whichever empire had lost planets and whatever empire had gained them. Millions died in these unnecessary practices. If the designated loser empire tried to win the war, the other empires would enforce the Code of the Piemakers under one false, unrelated-to-pie pretense or another.

Red knew the judges were biased towards how polished one's ship was, so he polished the ship. He knew the judges were particular about one's poise, confidence, and manner of speaking as soon as they left their ship, so he chatted in conspiratorial whispers to himself (so as not to avoid the attention of possible passersby). This ritual preceded every competition, and grew more worrisome to Purple with each passing year, as Red's desire to win grew stronger. Two hours later he was satisfied, and cautiously slid the blue tarp over the hole. (Though familiar with the thing, Red was still wary of it).

The Pie Competition was still five days away. Red would be back.

_Part 3: In which Figgins breaks the competition's vow of secrecy_

Valus Prime Figgins was not so worried about the Pie Competition for two reasons. The first, which was the more obvious, was that he one every year and his pie was perfect. The second, less obvious reason, was that at the moment he was experiencing a great amount of pleasure from a source all-too-well-known to humans.

Figgins was tall, but not enough to justify his rather massive girth. He was burnt-red, almost brown, in color, and his course, scaly skin complete his dinosaur-like appearance. He had four pale yellow eyes and three horns running vertically down his face, a holdover from the larger spikes which randomly distributed themselves along his back. His panting let loose the foulness that was his breath

The female specimen who was rather conspicuously atop him was slender, of a lighter red complexion and had fairer skin. The only item of clothing between the two was a garish crystalline chain wrapped around her neck- a gift.

The Valusians, much like animals, choose their mate by screwing them. Figgins had chosen many mates, being the Prime.

It was in fact the Valusians, all those thousands of years ago, that had begun the Pie Competition after ending the Err-Tal Empire's winning streak at the Intergalactic Warmongering Competition which never seemed to end. Whichever Empire won always got to determine the next year's competition (and, given the Valusians were great pie-makers, the Pie Competition was born. The Prime was selected by the previous Prime based solely on his pie-making skills.

Figgins could bake a mean pie. So he was entitled to several wives, a group which the young woman on top of him would soon be joining.

It took another hour before the two finished (Valusians can go for quite a while) when Figgins revealed he was not so worried about the secrecy of the Pie Competition either. "I'm very lucky you know," he spoke softly to the girl. "In four days my pie will take top honors, and then we shall be married in the glorious continuation of the Valusian Empire."

"Pie?" the girl asked, curious.

"Oh, yes, the Pie Competition, between the various Empires. If you win, and Valusians have always won, you basically get an empire," loose women often loosened the Prime's tongue, but never to such a degree. Besides, she was a very stupid girl if she had slept with him.

"Oh, take me with you! I've never seen another race, let alone another planet!" she pleaded excitedly.

"I'm afraid I can't, my dear. It's a very secretive business, you know," he poked her nose affectionately/patronizingly, making a little 'boop' sound as he did so.

She got off of him, disappointed. It was at that moment that Figgins' advisor, Fillion, walked in on the two of them.

"Sir, you're ship for the Big Important Meeting is ready for inspection."

With a grunt, Figgins pulled himself out of his courtyard's extravagant golden fountain and let Fillion help him into his black ceremonial robes. Fillion then led Figgins to his secret pie competition ship (which was, in case you were wondering, a modified Kenga Flyer, the most common of the Valusian warships), which he secretly called the Pie in the Sky.

_Four days_,he thought, _Until I crush you yet again, you Irken filth._


	4. 3: An Accident Leads to the Inevitable

**The 401,278th Intergalactic Supremacy Pie Competition **

**Chapter 3: Zim cleans a toilet, plus some other stuff**

_Part 1: Zim learns a secret_

Red opened the door, then fainted.

"Eh... my Tallest?" Zim peered down at him. Zim, being the shortest fully developed irken of the entire race, stood on Red's stomach without depressing it whatsoever.

"...mm.." Red muttered. Slowly he got up and rubbed his eyes. He let out a successive series of shouts: "AAAAA! AAAAA! AAAAA! AAAAA! AAAAA!" and so on.

"ZIM! How did you get in?!" he bellowed. Purple, who'd been quietly tending to economic matters at his desk (once again all the revenue from this quarter would go towards a snackplanet) before Zim, and then Red, had entered, lowered his head and grunted, annoyed. "AND YOU!" Red pointed at him. "Y- you let this happen?! Why didn't he get sent to the ICSAC?!" he breathed, still taken aback.

"Oh. That's Zim, isn't it?" Purple slowly realized.

"I passed the Invader Test!" Zim piped up, several feet below his leader. He brandished the folded paper, as well as his bloody, maligned arms. As he flashed his arrogant grin, Red noticed a tooth was missing.

"NO! No-o-o-o!" Red moaned. "No! No! No! You'll never be an invader you stupid! You... stupid-y dumb! Auuuugh!" he fell to his knees. He was throwing what humans call a temper tantrum. Small human children have temper tantrums. "Get out of my sight," he stopped, holding off his rage. "Go... I don't know, clean the toilets?"

"_More_ test? But Zim completed your impossible challenge! Why is their more test for the Zim to complete?!"

"Shut up, Zim!" Red commanded, having regained a small amount of his composure. "That's the next part of your test. I have your mess to clean up myself."

"Oh that," Zim looked at the Perfect-pie's contents, which were strewn up and down the walls on Red's half of the room, the result of Zim blasting it to smithereens with his Echo Mini-rifle (note: given there design by Irken scientists, these guns break down in chunks to an irreparable state after firing a single shot, so some of that had gotten in what remained of the pie). "I was destroying the poisonous vessel!"

"No, Zim, that was for the Pie Competition!" Red suddenly realized what he'd done, but it was too late. Silence. Purple broke it by noisily sucking his soda's straw, only to realize there was none left in the cup. What a disappointing day this had been.

"Pie competition?" Zim asked, struck by the absurdity of the statement. "What pie competition? Irkens have no use for pie!"

"...What? Pie competition? I didn't say pie competition. Only a... not an invader would have heard me say pie competition!" Red cleverly maneuvered, then lowered his eyelids and sneered "Don't you have a toilet to clean?"

"Oh... yes! You didn't say that. Haha! Zim will clean the filthy water bowl for you now." Zim smiled before turning to walk out. He was very confused.

"I'll be down in the kitchen working on Perfect-pie 2."

"I thought you said you were going to clean this up?" Purple whined, pointing to the wall.

"Shut up!"

"You'd better cut out that nasty behavior, mister, or no pie contest!"

"But-"

"No buts!"

"Fine!" Red stormed out and headed for the kitchen.

The Only Bathroom on the Massive (OBM) smelled like Trouble the moment Zim stepped in, Trouble being the highly addictive Irken narcotic. It was also enormous, designed by twelve of the finest Vortian Bathroom Specialists. It was length of two human football fields and taller than the Great Pyramid of Giza. It was lit softly by Victorian-style gaslights which adorned the huge hallway. Zim walked two feet and turned to the right. He'd arrived at the only thing in the place other than him, the gaslights, and the massive amounts of burnt out Troublestix piled about: the one toilet, shaped like a square because Bathroom Specialists thought being avant-garde was an excuse not to do their jobs, was clogged with the purple filth irkens excrete. Zim activated his PAK legs, and had them begin the process of forcing the filth down the tube.

Why did the Tallests have a pie? Was it not a weapon sent by an enemy, or by an ICSAC worker? (Fun fact: the filth from the OBM drains into the ICSAC, created a veritable pile of crap. The fumes have led many to worship it as a God.) He was sure he'd heard Red say- NO! No, only not-invaders heard him say that. The amazing Zim didn't mishear things!

He hadn't misheard. He'd heard Pie Competition. It was absurd, but Zim knew it was the truth.

The next day, Red re-entered the kitchen in order to finish the Second-pie. He used the same recipe as before, and all was going unnaturally smoothly, until he realized he had no more blueberries. Heads would roll for this injustice. Not Zim's, mind you. After several attempts, the Tallests assumed it was impossible to kill Zim.

Zim, whose stupidity was barely beaten out by his tenaciousness.

Zim, who was watching Red at that moment. He stepped dramatically out of the shadows of the kitchen.

"Look at what me, ZIIM! has found! The glorious tasty _**HIDEOUS**_ blue sphere thingys you so desire!", he proclaimed, hoisting the berries above his head, having stolen Red's ingredients.

"How did you get in here?"

"Simple, really. All I had to do was hack through fifteen levels of security to pinpoint your location."

"By that, you mean you destroyed a bunch of stuff."

"Yes. I'm very resourceful, no? Then I found these on the floor," he waved the blueberries around.

"Give me the blueberries."

"Why do you need them so badly?"

"I-" Red was at a loss. Zim had, somehow, without realizing it, gained the upper hand. "For the Pie Competition," he admitted, defeated.

"Aha! I _am_ a not an invader! Wait..." Zim cut himself off. "What is this Pie Competition?"

"I can't tell you," Red replied defensively.

Zim began to speak, then accidentally dropped one of the blueberries into his mouth. It burned.

"Stop! I'll tell you everything!" Red said finally.

_Part 2: Purple and Red have a serious discussion_

"He knows," Purple looked slowly up from his work.

"Knows what?" Purple replied, un-enthused.

"The Pie Competition!" Red whisper-shouted.

"You don't have to keep your voice down. This room is soundproofed."

It's actually not.

"How did that slip out?"

"He threatened me with blueberries," Red replied darkly. Purple looked confused. He may have been the stupider of the two, but even he knew that sentence made no sense.

"So... what?"

"He'll ruin everything! He'll tell people, and then blow something up, probably, because 'He is ZIM!' and, and..." Red spluttered.

"Did you tell him not to say anything?" Purple asked.

"Yeah."

"Well, he never disobeys us."

"...You're right. You're right!" Red was convincing himself now.

"Hey... Zim blows things up, right?" Purple looked kind of excited.

"What do you mean?"

"If we take him to the Competition-"

"NO! Absolutely not!"

"If we take him... he might "accidentally" destroy the other pies... as part of his test!"

"You idiot, that'd be breaking the rules!" But Purple had Red's attention.

"But we wouldn't break them!"

"...Our stowaway would!" Red suddenly, and cleverly, devised. "...Then my pie would win by forfeit!" Red pictured himself rolling in money, even though the pie competition isn't really about money. This was possibly a symbolic representation of his greed?

"And the stupid Pie Competition would be over! We could change it to Gromling hunting, or something!"

"Yes! How could this plan possibly fail!"

It would. Disastrously.

But then, irkens are an incredibly stupid race.

_Part 3: Zim joins the team_

"And then I get my tank," Zim clarified. He'd just been briefed by Red. He, Red, Purple, and an unfortunate horde of caged Gromlings were meeting secretively in the Tallests office.

"Yes, Zim. You will get your tank. After being subjected to thousands of years in intergalactic jail!" Red exclaimed spontaneously.

Zim stared blankly at this last statement. He'd only heard 'tank' and began subconsciously salivating a liquid combination of sulfuric acid and hydrogen chloride. Dreamily, he asked "What was that last part?"

"Hm? Nothing. Now, lets look at the charts one more time," Red pointed with his metal pointer stick thing at a paper chart he'd enlarged from the official Competition Grounds' map. "Along the left bank will be the pies of Valus Prime Figgins, Crowak Emperor Crekar, and Supreme Allar, of the Ferin Empire. Strike these booths first: they're our main competition." Red flipped the page to reveal... a picture of him sitting on the toilet, signed 'Bie Prrpel'! Oh, the embarrassment!

Zim and Purple snickered. Luckily, a cage of Gromlings was nearby. After killing all of them, Red made sure to torture the new interns with the Demon Engine Reports he needed exorcised/filed. These practices were remarked upon as an "unhealthy" way to vent Red's anger by his therapist. Red killed his therapist, but not before questioning his use in a race of shortsighted, hostile idiots, deeply offending and depressing the poor shrink. His name was Kal.

"Anyways, on the right-"

"Relax, Zim's brain is good at remembering! I understand the plan!...But I don't think Purple does, so if you want to repeat it to him you should," Zim boasted.

"He's right. I thought we were talking about groceries. What's this about a plan?"

"As you know," (but you, the audience, does not yet) "after everyone arrives, there is a large feast held. Then the pies are judged. During the feast, Zim will spring out of the Massive and destroy the other pies, then sneak back, leaving our pie the only one left!" The Tallests did not realize how easily this action might incriminate them.

"Okay."

"We disembark at dawn," Red's eyes shone as, out the window, a star blazed, and reflected gloriously in his eyes; the very image the mind conjures when one pictures a horde of lions equipped with laser-shooting battle gear destroying an entire battalion of Confederate soldiers was not as awesome a sight.

"What classifies dawn?" Zim piped up, ruining the awesome moment. "There's not really a day or night in space, and-"

"Shut up, Zim... The future beckons," Purple proclaimed, putting a hand on Red's shoulder. The Tallests exchanged a brotherly nod before proudly gazing together into space.

"So, um, when-"

"15 hours! Tall-y, Zim, stop killing the moment!"


	5. 4: Six Other Guys and then Zim again

The 401278th Intergalactic Supremacy Pie Competition of Doom

Chapter 4: Six Other Guys and then Zim again

_Part 1: The Crowak_

"AUUGH!" the blue, stalky creature let loose a few rounds. He'd prepared his blaster (and the isolated room he and the pie were in) for exactly this level of rage. The dust cleared in front of him, revealing his irreparably wounded pie. And he'd spent so much time building up his pie to the guys and everything! He'd sent this message to the other Emperors:

_Hey you Stupids!_

_ It's me, Crekar! My pie is so delicious this year! You're pies are loser-pies! Haha!_

This message scared some; the others thought it an idle threat.

You see, Crowak Emperor Crekar was not exactly good pie making. Sure, he'd salvaged the dying Vallahar race (those crazy kids who just wouldn't stop combusting) and, after curing their inherent genetic dysfunctions, (the combusting, that is) bridged their world with Crowa, the seat of his limited power, and established any empire whatsoever. Before that, Crowa had been among one of the last coalitions of Free Planets in the universe before the Irkens invaded. Crowa, the last line of defense, managed to hold them off. A "kill or be killed" mentality gripped the planet, and Crekar, the current ruler, answered the demands for expansion with the Vallahar.

There are exactly eight empires currently recognized by Intergalactic Law. The Crowak Empire is the smallest. Naturally, this was kinda annoying to Crekar. Shortly after registering his Empire (through a lengthy and obnoxious Space Internet survey), his invitation to the Big Important Meeting was sent by a distraught, poisoned Gromling. Crekar offered the poor creature something to drink, the crowak being an empathetic race, and accidentally gave him one of the many liquids poisonous only to Gromlings.

After being hilariously hazed (or rather, forced to eat several children under penalty of death) by the seven other emperors, the Crowak Empire was formally accepted. Crekar was then briefed on the Pie Competition and its secretive nature. And so, Crekar abandoned actual galactic conquest for pie making. He wasn't about to break the rules and try to capture another empire's ISPC-won planets, for it was this very rule that was keeping them from ransacking his own empire.

The latest of which had a few dozen rounds of gunfire embedded in its bread-y goodness (note: that's an expression. His pies would be punishable by death on many planets.) Unfortunately, Crekar was out of time, and, carefully picking the bullets out, loaded the misshapen and awful tasting Bad-pie onto his small, private cruiser built specifically for the Pie Competition, which he rather cleverly called the Pie in the Sky.

"Sir!" a soldier standing guard saluted as Crekar exited the room. "All set for the Big Important Meeting?" at that moment, the crowak guard morphed into a small Err-Tal child. "Please don't eat me!" he cried.

"I won't Smithee! I won't!" Crekar cried, before realizing he was just shaking the guard, and not the small boy he'd eaten all those years ago. The crowak's empathy often led them to extreme, delusional guilt trips when remembering their past sins. Crekar was no different.

"Very good sir!" the guard cried, unfazed.

Crekar brushed past him. The public launching of the Pie in the Sky (known to the public as 'Fleetfoot') for the 'Big Important Meeting' was in an hour. If anything, Crekar wasn't going to be late.

_Part 2: The Feronian_

Foodcourtia. Thousands of restaurants. Hugely popular. A great economy stimulator.

Vort. The greatest planet-sized industrial plant in the universe.

Blorch. A massive parking structure planet and great place for tacos.

These and other fabulous prizes could be Teri's. This year, she was sure her pie would beat the Irkens. Figgins never lost, but in recent years, the Irken Empire had been slipping: small bits of sawdust, traces of poison, even Gromling shavings had cropped up in the last few pies. Now she, as Supreme Allar of the Ferin Empire, would surpass them.

Teri was the only female of the Emperors, and therefore had the most to prove to the chauvinistic assembly. A self-made woman, Teri had suffered throughout most of her childhood (her parents, wanting a boy, tried to set fire to her multiple times. Feronians are not flammable.) before attending and beating her classmates at her Academy of Conquest, gaining prominence on her planet. When the previous Supreme Allar died in combat, she, the leader of the successful conquest of the Strikna galaxy, stepped up to guide her empire. That was why this pie had to be extra special.

She sprinkled sprinkles on her Key-lime-pie for extra delicious flavor.

Foodcourtia.

She lit a candle to softly brown the edges of the bread.

Vort.

She licked the pie with her large, green tongue to give it a nice sheen.

Blorch.

Three planets, all wagered this year. That was all she needed to beat the irkens. Three little planets.

Actually, three little planets wouldn't do much, and the three she desired were quite large. Larger than her head, for certain, which was a remarkable feat given the average grenkin head size. Dib would have fit right in with them.

Just kidding. Dib's funny-lookin'.

"Is the Pie in the Sky ready?" she asked herself in reference to her wonderfully creatively named ship.

"Ftt! Ftt! Skreee!" came her answer. Teri's Other Mind spoke a language both wondrous and terrifying.

"Good, good. We depart immediately!" she proclaimed, snatching the finished pie off of its pedestal, no doubt a symbolic representation of the ridiculous importance placed on its development.

_Part 3: The Zart-being_

The success of the Zartilist Empire was attributed quite simply to a small rock. To be fair, it was a magical rock. It waged wars with its telekinetic powers and liked cool hats. Every Zart-being knows how the rock, a soldier who was named James, conquered the Dirtmunchers, the Cat-People, and the Squibblies in the Ancient Time of Zart, the God and Creator of the Zart-beings.

Much like God and Jesus, Zart and James were worshiped as father and son in daily, structured prayer. Unlike the worship of God and Jesus, this worship involved the people of Zart throwing rocks at each other at noon and midnight every day. People wore lavish hats while doing so, in honor of James.

This religion was, of course, complete nonsense, but then Zart-beings are nonsensical, stupid beings who hate sugar.

King James XVIII of the Zart Blood threw the largest boulders with his massive, trunk-like arms, and he wore the grandest hats (such as the dead Dirtmuncher currently resting atop his thick, jet black, triangular head) in worship. As he hurled boulders down on a large group of worshipers, he made sure to show off his hat and matching black cape, which was too small for him and choking his round, dark exterior.

He looked quite ridiculous.

It comes as little surprise that this race's empire was as small as it was, its five planets largely populated with non-sentient beings. The reason the Ferin race had remained an empire long enough to have 18 kings was because nobody wanted to enslave them. Looking at them now, it almost seems logical that a rock was the thing that formed their empire in the first place.

Being as stupid as he was, James took a rock to the Pie Competition each year as his submission. These were slightly more well received than Crekar's pies.

His private cruiser was (surprisingly creatively) named the Pie in the Sky. Which didn't exactly fit, you'll remember, because his pie was a rock.

_Part 4: Synergytron 3000_

Nobody in the Galvonon Empire thought it would be important to report their former leader, Emperor Cruikshank, had been replaced due to recent events by a pie-making robot.

Originally programmed to promote synergy to the masses, Synergytron 3000 slowly developed sentience, and perhaps more pivotally recognized that the term synergy meant nothing. The logic of the machine realized quickly that Cruikshank, with his penchant for hacking up unskilled labor with his collection of ancient Meekrob swords and destroying his 'machine opressors' in mad anxiety attacks, was not quite fit to run the business. Armed with this knowledge, as well as deadly, unstoppable laser cannon arms, Synergytron staged a one-robot coup of the government. Barricading himself inside Cruikshank's former office, the robot discovered his true programming: building pies, thus becoming Pietron.

The Galvonon Empire had a dynamic place in the Pie Competition each year, sometimes placing fourth, other times fifth or sixth. These constant shifts jumbled the empire, resulting in many Galvons, Reticons, and Viilers learning to co-exist on the three Empires' winnings.

Employing science and math and stuff that robots do, Pietron had concocted the perfect mix of cherries, whipped cream, bread, and strawberries, taking into account the judges' taste preferences, as well as the violent mood swings and bigotry of specific individuals.

It was only logical, but nonetheless extraordinarily clever of the android to christen himself the Pie in the Sky when accessing his flight programming. He even had a built in chamber for pie storage. He would win this competition. Then he would win the respect and admiration of the Galvons, who kept trying to kill him. The greatest lesson Pietron had learned was the power of love.

Which is to say nothing of the Galvonoid robots he was currently secretly mass producing, which would hopefully kill everyone and succeed organic beings as the next stage of life in the galaxy.

_Part 5: The Reticon_

Farus was born on the ice planet of Raxis, one of many planets co-inhabited with the Viilers and Galvons. The ice world had acclimated his body to suffering. And the cold, obviously. Groomed by the political advisor of Raxis' Reticon chancellor when he came of age, Farus' might shone through when he succeeded him, inspiring the Reticon population to overthrow the other inhabitants. The creation of a slave army from these fallen creatures helped Raxis briefly secure several other planets in the **R**etic** V**iiler **G**alvon systems. This leadership almost immediately secured his position as Retic's new Emperor. The second he was appointed, Farus was itching to strengthen his empire, and possibly eradicate his competitors for the RVG.

And then he learned about the Pie Competition. And then he was forced to change his mind.

Farus hated pie. He was going to win this stupid thing... Was what he'd told himself for 294 Pie Competitions to date.

Farus was a very angry little creature, for Reticons are very short and angry. He was angry at the V and the G parts of the RVG. He was angry at the stupid Pie Competition. He wanted to smack the dastardly Figgins, with his stupid accent of unidentified origin (aliens don't know French, unsurprisingly. Even if they all seem to speak the same language). And those idiot Irkens, and that bitch Teri. Sure she'd never particularly insulted him, but then she had beaten him at tic-tac-toe that one time. How he hated her.

And he hated this stupid pie. "I hate this stupid pie!" he screamed. He punched a wall, which hurt his hand. "I hate this stupid wall and my hand!" he grumbled.

He did not, however, hate his (uproariously and quite cleverly named) personal Pie Competition cruiser the Pie in the Sky.

_Part 6: The Viiler_

Great Lord of the People Quaretiliyouisieretefgv, or Quart, as one guy called him yesterday, quite liked pies. He quite liked his people, and he quite liked his job, which he'd been raised to perform as the last emperor's son. He was just kind of a nice guy. He liked and got on well with the other emperors. He got them all fruit baskets on their birthdays, which were kindly discarded, as most Viiler foods are poisonous to everybody else, especially Gromlings.

Yep. Just a cool guy. With a cool and cleverly titled ship (Pie in the Sky) to boot.

_Part 7: The Irken(s)_

"What a diverse cast of characters!" Zim remarked as the Tallests spoke of the six aforementioned beings.

"Indeed, indeed," Red agreed. "All their various goal and ambitions will certainly make this competition interesting."

"Yeah," Purple remarked, resting his arms on the ship, whose name he'd forgotten. "I sure wonder who'll win this year!" he remarked sarcastically. Red and Zim burst into laughter. Purple, slow on his own joke, laughed halfheartedly to be included.


	6. 5: Things Start Happening

**The 401,278****th**** Intergalactic Pie Competition of Doom!**

**Chapter 5: Things Start Happening**

_Part 1: The Competition Grounds_

"Morris!" a middle aged Zeptopon woman wagged her finger at her son, reprimanding him for eating her sister. The laugh track blared mechanically before the picture cut out.

"Hey, I was watching that!" Defax whined, pointing to the small TV in front of him. Standing above him was his gruff, chain-smoking boss Farel.

"Get back to work!" He screamed at his employee, who promptly scurried off to help prepare the Grand Table for the Feast Proceeding the Competition. Farel sulked angrily to the middle of the Competition Grounds, located in the only inhabitable part of Judgementia, which was otherwise mostly barren, intolerably heated desert by its three suns. "Can you believe the kids these days?" he slumped on a bench. To his left he saw a gathering of said kids lazily prepping Crehar's booth. "Idiots, the whole lot of 'em! Cheap though."

Farel was not talking to anyone. It was very concerning.

"I mean, we Judges uphold the greatest tradition in the whole universe, and all these kids wanna do is slack off and watch old Zeptopoid sitcoms!" Farel was correct on both counts. The Judges, a gray, squarish people, designed the Competition Grounds every year. Hundreds burned just trying to find the right location. They did not actually judge the Pie Competition. Given their imposing title, they were surprisingly meek. They also catered birthday parties. And the kids these days did watch Zeptopoid sitcoms, but only ironically or on dares. Zeptopoid humor is very bleak.

Meanwhile, two Judge workers placed a jar of flowers delicately on the Proctors' podium, before the plants burned to a crisp, along with the Judge on the left. Judgementia is a very hot planet regardless of where you are on it.

"Ugh, how disappointing," Herat echoed Farel's sentiment, eying the burnt plant.

"Oh, brighten up, there," Fourier patted him on the back before sitting in his alloted position. "In a few hours we can go home for another wonderful year of vacation and wonder."

He was right. Competition Proctors, who in choosing the winner of each Competition are the most powerful creatures in the world, are very well compensated for doing their job once a year.

ICSAC workers worship a pile of Irken shit.

Still, Herat, being a selfish dick, yearned for more. His tale of self-discovery and reinvention is not important and will not be elaborated upon.

Fourier, on the other hand, was a good-looking, happy-go-lucky Varian, the birdlike race all Proctors come from.

The third judge, an uptight aficio-pie-do of pies, disliked the two others. His story is indeed a tragic one which is also not important.

"Ah, look, Herat! Hereupon arrives Mr. Xidas, most respected Head Judge! How are you, good sir?" Fourier poked the tiny creature in the belly out of contempt. Xidas looked overworked, indicated by the hole he'd nervously chewed in his top-right arm.

"The Grand Table is nearly finished. We should see arrivals in-"

"Xidas Xidas Xidas Xidas!" Fourier shook his head. "I don't care. Do we have a guy who clips toenails?" he asked.

"Um, yes, I don't see-"

"Yeah, get him over here," Fourier flashed a toothy grin.

"Okay, sir," Xidas turned. _Two more days_ _'til retirement_, he told himself. Just then Judgementia's rocky shell opened up, devouring the poor creature, almost as if the planet was an organic being. Oh the irony!

_Part 2: The Arrivals Arrive_

The Intergalactic Supremacy Pie Competition has a very strict, fancy dress code that the Emperors decided upon. There is nothing enforcing the Codes of the Piemakers, but the Emperors do not know this.

For example, Figgins, the earliest arrival to the Competition Grounds, stepped out of his ship to great applause as the Proctors admired his polished spacecraft as much as his polished figure: complete with a fancy blue cape-thingy and shiny golden headress.

"Fourier! Herat!" he cried enthusiastically, shaking their hands. "And... you!" he deliberated for a second, not recognizing the third Proctor. "I've got a real treat for you!" he boasted, unveiling a lavish and wonderfully scented creation. If he'd waited a second longer to cover the thing's scent up, the Varians' instinctive urge to kill for pie would've taken hold, which would have been quite grim. "Why, look at this! Nobody else is here! You might as well declare me the winner!"

The four shared in a laugh, although Figgins was quite serious. The fanfare died down as he found his way to his booth, on the left side of the Grounds. The booths were organized based on each empire's previous rank: Figgins was situated closest to the Proctors' podium on the left, and Irk closest on the right, in a booth situated several feet away from Figgins'. The other three rows followed this pattern. Setting his pie down, Figgins sauntered amongst the frantic Judges, who were still erecting tents and benches for the annual Emperor Twister, Rock Paper Scissors, and The Ground is (literally, in this case) Lava competitions which did not contribute to any sort of galactic conquest but were played so the empires could hate each other even more.

The sound of engines suddenly drowned out the sounds of the Judges, and all heads turned upwards as another Pie in the Sky descended. This ship was branded with two triangles being crossed with a line: the symmetrical, meaningless logo of the Feronian Empire. Teri.

Poor, sweet Teri, whom had fallen in love with Figgins all those years ago, as he recalled, but was forced to do without him for the independence of their two empires. Oh, what a tragedy she must endure every day.

Of course none of that really happened, and when Teri stepped off her ship, adorned in red to accent her white-and-red facial features, she brushed past him with the cold menace a competitor for universal domination shows to another. "Fourier, Herat, Larid, how have you been?" she asked kindly. She did not unveil her pie as the four exchanged pleasantries. She moved shortly to her booth unfortunately situated next to Figgins.

"You, like, so want to date me!" Figgins boasted proudly.

"No I don't," she replied bluntly.

"Shut up! I'm the Prime! I get what I want!" he stomped off. Teri thought he was quite the fool.

"Psssss Ack Ack Ack!" her Other Mind coughed out in agreement.

As the riveting romantic drama played out, another ship landed haphazardly, ejecting its driver harshly from the cockpit. _No, no, don't bother_, he thought as some younger Judges, who didn't know he deserved none of their respect, swarmed to pick him up. _I'm all too familiar with the taste of dirt,_ he added miserably with a look at his further-damaged pie, _and soon the Proctors will be reacquainted._

"Oh, you still have an empire don't you?" Fourier inquired rhetorically, glancing up and down at the dirt-covered beast. Neither he nor his ship was polished at all. He wasn't even wearing a ceremonial headpiece or anything! "You know where we've set _you _up," Fourier finished hastily, trying to get the awkward creature out of his line of sight.

Crekar sighed glumly with a look at the Judge clipping Fourier's toenails before trudging to his 8th place booth and laying down his pie. He looked over at Teri, who appeared to be yelling at Figgins, who had mustered some confidence since being shot down. Crekar was too depressed to sexually harass her this year, so he absentmindedly tapped the table waiting for the others, and the Feast.

King James XVIII was simply too stupid to sexually harass Teri. He stepped off of his ship, dressed in a red t-shirt that let all of his tentacles splay loosely across the ground. He handed the Proctors his rock before they gave it back to him for his own booth.

"Hi, Figgins, hi Teri!" he waved wholeheartedly, a stupid grin on his face. The two looked on with disdain and amusement. Crekar simply looked depressed. That idiot's empire was better than his?

"Hey, James, you're rock isn't going to beat my pie this year!" Crekar yelled at him across the Grounds.

"I do not associate with those lower than I!" James repeated an old Zart-Being platitude. He struggled on the pronunciation of 'associate.' "Good luck!" he smiled friendlily. Crekar's blood curdled.

Pietron, the next arrival, did not have blood.

"Hey there! You're not invited! We don't have any robots on our guest list! Shoo!" one of the Judges walked up to him.

"_Primary Objective 4A-GE: Obliterate all opposition to promote synergy among fearful remnants,_" he droned before shooting the Judge through the chest. The others backed off. "I am Pietron, successor of Emperor Cruikshank. Here is my pie."

Pietron analyzed the Competition Grounds and surveyed the arrangement of booths, and after quickly ascertaining its organization and information on the four other Emperors' placement in last year's competition, situated himself in the fifth booth. With no mechanism to slowly place a pie down, Pietron shot the pie out of his arm cannon, squishing the thing into unrecognizability and quelling protests from Teri and Figgins on allowing a robot into the Competition.

"Did somebody say 'robot?'" a relatively Viiler-esque creature stepped out of the shadows. Viilers are relatively impervious to incredible heat, so Quart parked his ship a ways away to surprise the others.

"Quart!" everyone, even Crekar, cheered as he broke into the Robot. Everybody clapped and cheers, their competitive anger dissipating as his sick moves brought them all together. Everybody except for Pietron.

"Woah, man, you look down!" Quart cried.

"Fun was never part of my programming," Pietron intoned sadly.

"That's sick! Let me see here," he examined the robot, then bumped him with his elbow. The android sprung to life.

"Woah! I've gained sentiency!" he smiled. "Thanks, Quart!"

"Ayy!" Quart made little gun things with his fingers and pointed them at nothing in particular. Everybody cheered. Even Herat was happy to see him. Quart may have been an even worse piemaker than Crekar, but he was such a delight!

The next Pie in the Sky lighted down with little fanfare. Last year's sixth place winner, Farus, stepped out bitterly, his stupid ancestral black robes clinging to him as if they were alive. "Here's my pie," he remarked sullenly before turning to his booth.

"Hope you like the taste of failure!" Crekar shouted, always the confrontational one.

"Hope you like having your ego shoved up your ass!" James chimed in with another ancient Zart-saying he did not fully comprehend the meaning of.

"Chill that to the off, disco slick!" Quart had an undefinable language of his own, made entirely of cool-isms. "C'mon gang, let's go play some tic-tac-toe!" he buzzed, initiating the pre-Competition games as usual.

_Part 3: The Tallests Are Late_

"We're gonna be late!" Red whined. "Drive faster!"

"Yeah, drive faster!" Zim kicked Purple's seat from behind.

"We'll be there in fifteen minutes, calm down!" Purple said angrily as he subconsciously drove up the speedometer to its breaking point.

"Zim, cloak yourself now and hide in the back. Do you have the Official Pie Detainment Stick?" Red asked.

"Yes!" Zim held up a stick.

The two Tallests sat down next to Zim, speaking seriously now. "Zim, if you do this for us, you'll be an Invader, and you'll get your tank. It's not like the other emperors would kill you after learning of your unspeakable crimes!" Red began.

"Wait... that sounds bad. Is there a chance of that happening?" Zim asked.

"No, absolutely not," Purple smiled.

"WHY AREN'T YOU DRI-"

* * *

"Mmm.. what?" Purple blinked, opening his eyes slightly. He coul barely make out the blurry outline of that asshole Fourier. He looked mad.

"Wake up!" he heard someone call in the distance. A sharp pain kicked him, because somebody was kicking him.

"I'm up, I'm up," Purple blinked as he pushed himself to his feet. "This planet gets hotter every year, huh?" he asked conversationally. Then he looked behind him. "Oh. Hehe,"

Behind him, the Pie in the Sky had burned an expensive hole in the Proctors ship. It itself had crashed sickeningly into the ground. Red was standing nearby, a look of awe and fear in his eyes. But where was Zim? Was he dead, or...?

"This is... this is not polished!" Fourier screamed as a collection of heads turned away to look at him. "This is not clean, this is dirty and, and, and, and, and..." his voice trailed off before he collapsed in hysterics. The Proctors and Emperors crowded around him. "You, Irken!" he pointed at Red. His next words would change the course of Universal Politics forever.

"You and your Empire are disqualified. You are illegally in possession of independent planets. Your Empire is finished."


	7. 6: Something Really Bad Happens

**The 401,278th Intergalactic Supremacy Pie Competition of Doom**

**Chapter 6: Something Really Bad Happens**

Zim's eyes shot open. Quickly darting from right to left his eyes surveyed the broken hull of the Pie in the Sky. Loose wires, undone by the force of the ship's impact upon the surface of Judgementia, sparked and moved about wildly. A red emergency light cast a headache-inducing chiaroscuro about the ship's markedly small interior, which smelled of motor oil and ham. But Zim didn't care about any of that. Had his cloak activated? And where was his stick?

Slowly moving his hand in front of his face, Zim realized he could see right through it. He also noticed that it was carrying a disembodied, floating stick. With a heavy sigh, he dropped it, not wanting to alert anyone of his presence. Speaking of which, he clambered, with figurative lead in his Invader-grade combat boots, to the ship's cockpit window.

This was easier said than done, given the ship had landed at an angle at which the cockpit landed face-up. Zim was forced to seize the back of what was not fifteen minutes ago his seat, and pulled himself up. Resting here, his memory of basic Irken anatomy, most notably his PAK, sprang belatedly into his mind, and he tried to activate his mechanical spider legs. No use; his beadlyspooch, the voluntary muscle that controls Irken PAK functions, must've shaken loose, as organs were prone to do in squishy Irken bodies. Sighing, he jumped nimbly onto the upturned back of the driver's seat. He stood on his tiptoes to reach the window and survey the scene outside.

Before him knelt the weeping Tallest Red. Zim couldn't hear him due to the soundproofed window. Zim was confused. He remembered being conditioned to despise sadness as weakness when he was a smeet: how else should he react seeing his Tallest indulging in it? Turning from the disgusting sight out of- well, disgust- Zim watched seven other figures turn from him. Odd, gray, squarish beings accompanied these seven into a large covered structure- the Feast Tent. Zim saw Purple turn in the same direction, and eventually Red picked himself up. The Competition Grounds were cleared, and Zim's task lie ahead of him.

Zim jumped down where his stick was, deciding that he could indeed use it, before kicking open the loose, sideways hatch in the Pie in the Sky's side.

The heat of the planet struck him first and foremost, causing a violent reaction from his un-acclimated body. After retching briefly and silently inside the ship (so it could not be traced to him), he shut the hatch and stole across the Grounds, stick triumphantly in hand.

Meanwhile, inside the Feast Tent, the food was unveiled, filling the cramped quarters with the scent of Lyrrsh hams and Qqaly wines, both mass produced in horrifying, planet-wide factories. Crekar sat down at the tiny table meant to accustom all the emperors; it had started as an insult to the worst emperor before Figgins made the mistake of sitting down at to personally insult Ack-Geh, the (at the time) current ruler of the all-but extinguished Err-Tal Empire. Seen as a power grab or possibly a sign of dominance by the ever-paranoid Irkens and Feronians, they sat down at the table too, followed by the other emperors, not wanting to be left out.

So now the universe's eight greatest leaders all sat at the Feast's equivalent of the kid's table one might have at Christmastime when they once again find themselves hosting all your in-laws and their goddamn kids in your two-room, one story duplex they share with a racist old coot who keeps stealing their wi-fi.

Red and Purple, the Once Great Tallests of the Once Great Irken Empire, walked in, disgraced but still invited to their Final Feast, as is custom when an Empire retires or bows to another's power.

"Cheer up, Red. Irk is still larger than all of the Crowak Empire," Purple said disconsolately. He too was worried. The two sat down, and began to feel the pressure of the Valusian and Feronian empires bear down on them, and not in the metaphorical sense that the two empires would probably divide the new planets made available to them, but because they were sitting on either side of the two, and that table was pretty damned small.

Perfect-pie was, from an objective point of view, the best pie at the competition, making the Irkens' plight all the more ironic. Of course, the now ex-ex-Invader Zim (the second ex added due to his Empire's dissolution) did not know this, and began his incredibly complicated pie-smashing mission with it in tow. Zim scurried to the Irkens' booth and placed Perfect-pie down before taking his stick across the row of booths and sending Valus Prime Figgins' pie, and henceforth the entire Valusian Empire, out of existence. He continued to pulverize the pie into the dust of the planet's surface, so as to leave no trace of it.

This was done, by no fault of Zim's, with particular restraint. He was carrying out the orders of a coward, after all. The greatness that was Zim never shed any tears! He was a proud, bold, strikingly handsome conqueror, for Tall-y's sake!

Zim tried to push these rebellious thoughts out of his mind. _Obey Your Tallests,_ he repeated to himself over and over again as he beat Teri's pie to death. He no longer felt in control of his actions, as he jerked around, struggling with these two subconscious, instinctive, and currently contradictory Irken ideals. Zim's innate lack of cynicism had made him unable to look upon the Tallests as buffoons, but as the Galvonon Empire bit the dust at the hands of his stick, his mind re-analyzed Red's actions as one of a fool's, and Zim couldn't help but be reminded of Red's mistakes, particularly his wrongdoings against Zim.

_Obey Your Tallests. Obey Purple. _

Yes, Purple did nothing wrong, Zart-beings. Your pie may be surprisingly durable and oddly shaped, but you deserve to suffer at the hands of him, the true Tallest, and the new Irken Empire he was born to lead.

_Red is a coward._

He had been the one to tell him, all those years ago, that he was a danger to his race. Had he not been sarcastically enslaving Zim in that awful pit known to Foodcourtia as Shloogorgh's? Might he truly not recognize Zim's greatness?

_Purple is a coward. He let Red do all of those things to you. He stood there, cowering beneath another coward._

But then... if their height did not make them Zim's superior...? There were now two pies left: Perfect-pie, and Crekar's pie.

Crekar, who was being insulted as usual by his fellow emperors.

"You might as well just kill yourself!" Figgins joked, sending a raucous cry of laughter throughout the Feast Tent.

"Yeah, the only thing smaller than your Empire is your filustube (Crowak genitalia)!" Teri quipped.

"You are an immaculate example of a male specimen," Pietron added mechanically.

Unfortunately, Crekar's temper snapped just, then, and bitterly he cried "Yeah, well, this statement is a lie!"

"_Logic anomaly. Shutting down!_" a voice unlike Pietron's emerged from the robotic husk as its AI imploded.

"Hey! You're not allowed to kill other emperors at diplomatic assemblies! Go wait outside, the feast is over for you, mister!" Fourier wagged his wing at Crekar disapprovingly.

Zim raised his stick. Crekar exited the tent.

"Hey... hey!" Crekar exclaimed as he caught sight of the stick. Zim froze in fear.

"Shut up!" somebody called from inside the tent.

Crekar surveyed the ground. It was getting dark out, but he noted the absence of pies. Upon witnessing the Perfect-pie, he turned to the floating stick.

"Are you Irken?" he asked the stick, hoisting it, and with it Zim's invisible body into the air.

"Nuh-uh!" Zim replied indignantly. He was bad at bluffing.

"Ha! The Tallests tried to rig a competition they're not even part of!"

"What do you mean? Of course they are. Otherwise, why would I be here? I mean... I'M A STICK!"

"You idiot!" Crekar told the self-proclaimed stick. "The Tallests were disqualified less than an hour ago for crashing their ship into Fourier's! The whole Irken Empire is finished...you've no use here."

"But, I am Zim! There can be no Zim without the Empire!" Zim cried. "I mean, uh, I'm made of wood! Neat, huh? Cuz I'm a stick!"

"What did you say?"

"I'm a stick?"

"Before that."

"I am Zim? I mean-"

"You're Zim? The Tallests sent the scourge of their empire to sabotage the competition?"

"Scourge? Zim is no scourge... that's what the, eh, other sticks told me! He is the greatest invader of all time: he was top of his class in the academy, he-"

"Killed Tallest Miyuki and shut down power on Irk twice, and was later sent into exile on Foodcourtia for disrupting Impending Doom I," Crekar excitedly made practical use of his obsessive knowledge of the other empires.

"I... Zim... great... Zim... but... exile...cheese?" Zim's mind was all but malfunctioning at this point. His Tallests had lied.

"Your Tallests have lied," Crekar spat. "But, if you destroy their pie, and not mine, I'll make it worth your while."

"You're going to have sex with me? ….I am a stick, you know."

"No you idiot. But I will make you my second-in-command when I rule the universe."

Zim's eyes shone. Of course Crekar didn't mean what he said, but then again he was a politician. Crekar dropped the stick, and Zim promptly ran to the Tallests' booth and picked up the Perfect-pie. He walked back to Crekar's and slowly looked each pie up and down. In spite of everything, Zim was still caught between his loyalty to an empire that no longer existed and his newfound disgust with his leaders.

At that moment, however, the Proctors began to leave the tent, followed by the Judges and other Emperors. Zim ducked underneath the booth, pie in hand and stick dropped on the ground.

The Competition Grounds went to hell in the minutes that followed. From underneath Crekar's booth, Zim could hear other booths being uprooted, tents being pulled out of the ground, and Emperors screaming at each other and, soon enough, at Crekar. Zim covered his pie in his body cloak as best he could, which was to say not at all, and ducked behind the Crowak as the Proctors called for order.

"Well, I am disappointed!" Fourier exclaimed. "Not a single one of you could resist eating your pie, except for Crekar!"

"Does this mean he wins?" Herat whispered.

"I don't know!" to the emperors, he cried, "We need some time to reassess the situation, um... we've still got tic-tac-toe?" his voice petered out feebly.

Angry, but at least complacent that Crekar wouldn't win and the whole Competition could potentially be invalidated this year, the other emperors grumbled and returned to their booths.

"Wait!" a voice cried from seemingly nowhere. The emperors each turned their heads in the direction of the noise. After adjusting to the sight, each one slowly, and barely, accepted that a floating pie was now speaking.

"Zim!" Red hissed. Wasn't he dead?

"Zim," Crekar thought quietly aloud. Why hadn't he destroyed Perfect-pie?

"I have a pie to submit!" Zim cried, walking down the long row of booths. Aurior, one of Judgementia's suns, had begun to rise, casting an elongated shadow of the pie across the dusty field. The scene looked very much like one ripped from a western film, with the hero slowly crossing the desert.

Except that hero was a pie being carried by an invisible Irken who was about to commit the most audacious coup in the history of the Pie Competition, and possibly even the universe.

"It is not... God-pie?" Fourier stammered to himself as the pie floated towards the Proctors' podium.

"What? No! ...I am the mighty Zim, of the Ir-" the pie stopped in mid air, and the voice subsided. Zim cast a look at his leaders, both looking anxiously at him. His blood curdled. Then he looked over at Crekar, and realized he didn't not want somebody ordering him around any longer.

"That is, Zim of the... Invis..in..oid Empire! Yes!"

"The Invisinoids?" Fourier exclaimed.

"Yeah, we started about a week ago, let's go with that," Zim spoke quickly. "I just, um, got here. And I baked a pie!" he held up the pie.

"Where's your ship?"

"It's invisible!" Zim proclaimed. He really did think himself quite clever. The Proctors nodded in agreement.

"Because he's invisible too." Fourier whispered.

"He must be telling the truth." Herat replied.

"I've never seen an Invisinoid before!" the third Proctor whispered excitedly.

"Wait!" Crekar exclaimed. "That's not an Invisinoid! That's the Irken Zim!"

"Filthy Crowak dirt-lies! Surely you know how untrustworthy the Crowak people are?" Zim gushed, flustered. The other emperors nodded in agreement.

"Crowaks do lie,"

"I'm not recalling any Irken Zims,"

"That's not even what an Irken looks like, anyway!"

Purple was about to agree with Crekar, but his sense of pride and a disapproving look from Red stopped him in his tracks.

"If Zim pulls this off," Red whispered, "We can use him to resurrect our Empire!"

"Very well!" Fourier exclaimed. "For Intergalactic Supremacy, we will now taste the pies of the two great empires of the universe: the Invisinoid and the Crowak empires!"

Both pies were placed before the judges. Crekar sulked angrily after his protestations were shut down yet again, and then the pies were tasted.

Crekar looked downcast.

The Tallests huddled together, hopeful.

Figgins stewed, ready to kill if any of this was validated.

Teri, for once, agreed with him.

Quart leaned on his booth, adjusting his shades. Nothing phased him.

Farus gloomily decided someone was going to die by the time the Competition ended.

Pietron was already dead, if you'll remember.

James picked his nose.

And two minutes later, "The Pie Competition is over! Zim and his Invisinoid Empire are now entitled to the wealth, territory, and prominence once held by the Extinguished Valusian Empire!"


	8. 7: The Title Begins to Lose Relevance

**The 401,278th Intergalactic Supremacy Pie Competition**

**Chapter 7: The Title Begins to Lose Relevance**

A small key was dropped into Zim's invisible hand. As he turned it over, he noted the particular shine that came up and briefly stole his eyesight away as Aurior's light gleamed off of it. It really was heavy for its size, owing to the gold it was made out of. Zim recognized it as the symbol given to each new ruler of the universe each year from the diagrams his former leaders had trained him to focus on attaining. And now he had, by way of what his mind construed as sheer brilliance, done exactly that.

Lord of the Organized Universe Zim I, of the Invisinoid race, Fourier had proclaimed to the small, assembled audience, about a second before Figgins tried to kill him and anyone else who tried to stop him. This was met a second later by a stunning bolt of light issued by one of the Judges' Containment Guns. Suppressed, Figgins was escorted to his ship, or rather carried as the bolt had briefly blotted out his ability to think.

"So... so what does this mean for the rest of us?" Teri cried.

"All formerly Empire-controlled planets are now free and unprotected by the Code," Herat proclaimed, reciting a passage from his Proctor Instruction Manual _So You Want To Decide the Fate of the Universe._ "All formerly empirical races are on their own, and any race formerly under their control may defend and usurp without fear of harm by other empires. An order is being sent to all Occupied Planets of this new scenario, of course under the guise of the Big Important Meeting."

"Oh, okay," Teri put on a calm facade before bolting for her ship. Easily the most level-headed of the emperors, she knew she could not prevent of the rise of the Invisinoids. She could, however, quash the inevitable rebellions and possibly gain new, unprotected territories in light of her empire's (hopefully brief) dissolution. She wasn't going to let any of these idiots, not even the Proctors, let her empire die. She would be back next year for whatever competition Zim cooked up.

Not realizing at first the implications of this new proclamation, Teri's dash alerted Red to the threats and opportunities of the new universal order Herat had established. That asshole Fourier couldn't tell him to just lay down and die. And he sure as hell wasn't going to roll over for a girl, because girls are too icky to take Irken territory! Red tapped Purple curtly and the two sped after her, knowing they would have to fix the Pie in the Sky ASAP so as not to be left behind. The other emperors followed suit, although the stupider ones lingered briefly before departing.

And so the race for the now un-Occupied Planets began, appropriately, with an actual footrace.

"So do I get my tank now?" Zim asked Fourier, turning to him like an unsure child to an assuring adult.

"You get the largest standing army in the universe," Fourier patted him on the shoulder, having no idea about the implications of this statement. "So what should next year's competition be?" he asked, bemused by what he realized was a rather tiny Invisinoid.

"Do I have to have one?" Zim asked.

"Well no, but-"

"And who are you, anyways? Are the Proctors part of an empire?"

"No, we're confined to our own, independent planet-"

"Which my giant army could destroy, stripping you of all power? I assume it's protected by the Code, but the only other official empire at this point is the Crowak's, which isn't much."

"Um," Fourier turned to the others. He was beginning to understand the implications of his statement. "No you couldn't?"

"Oh. Okay," Zim smiled. "I'm going to need transport to Zimplanet, then."

"Don't you mean Medius?" Fourier asked, referring to the world occupied by the Temple of the Lord of the Organized Universe.

"No, its Zimplanet now!" Zim replied defiantly.

"You can't do that!"

"Uh-huh! Last time I checked, I was the one with the giant army!"

"But- but-"

"In fact, I declare war on your filthy little planet!" Zim screamed, angry at who he now viewed as his inferior. He turned away triumphantly before realizing that by betraying the Tallests, he had no way to get to Zimplanet.

"Whew! All finished!" Purple looked up from his handiwork. The Pie in the Sky was now fully operational.

"Lets get the hell out of here!" Red screamed, opening the hatch.

"Oh, like you did anything!" Purple retorted.

"I helped! I handed you parts _and_ provided refreshments!"

"Pssh, while I did all the heavy lifting! And you don't even say thank you!"

The engine began to whir.

"You know I appreciate you!"

"Yeah? Well you never say it!"

The hatch shut.

"I'm sorry... I promise to appreciate you more."

"I love you."

"Don't push it."

And with that, the Pie in the Sky left Judgementia, piloted by what seemed to be air, leaving its original pilot and his companion stranded on the planet's surface.

After accessing the external mics that were rather needlessly designed for the ship, Zim triumphantly shouted "VICTORY FOR ZIM!" The two leaders of the Irken race looked up and stared as their stolen ship sped into the heavens.

"What have we done?" Red whispered hopelessly.

Figgins was at about 80% brain capacity as his autopiloted craft carried him to the Valus. Situated just outside the Invisinoid Empire, Valus' location was always a precaution in case the Valusians lost power.

The Pie in the Sky docked at Prime City's Congregation Spaceport, and Figgins stumbled out, 88% conscious, to the flash of cameras and aggressive reporters holding out mics.

"We've heard reports of Invisinoids-"

"Any comments on our new enemies?"

"What do our oppressors demand?"

"Can you confirm-"

"Sir? Sir!" a tiny red body pushed its way through the various journalists and met the resisting frame of the Prime. It was Fillion, thank Varelus. "Sir, follow me," he then turned to the crowd, and in a voice bigger than himself he demanded they step aside. The two lunged through their aggressors before Fillion made a loud whooping noise, recognized specifically by his Hoverus (shorthand for 'Hover Over Us,' the primary means of terrestrial transport in Valus) as an alert signal. The two piled in just as shots began to be fired from the crowd.

The Valusian government was not exactly in a great economic situation, and with the news of the lost territory to the 'sleeper threat of the Invisinoids,' unrest began to stir violently until it formed the two-day-old Angry People revolutionary group. The Valusian who unsuccessfully attempted to take Figgins' life was named Gaerli, a low-ranking deputy in the organization who just happened to be in the right place at the right time. Too bad he missed.

"Lucky for me, though," Figgins replied as Fillion concluded a less-interesting explanation of these events. 89%.

"Mass deportations have begun sir. Your mates and -ahem- girlfriend have been evacuated before the Invisinoids could attack Medius. They're here now," Fillion went on to explain. "But sir, if everyone is evacuated, we're going to have serious overpopulation issues."

"Well, what did we invest in giant defensive laser air cannons for? Shoot down whoever else tries to return."

"We didn't invest in giant defensive laser air cannons, sir."

"Well, do that, dammit, problem solved," Figgins brushed him off. He was operating at 90% at this point, but that's no excuse for the logic he didn't possess to begin with.

"Okay... your girlfriend-"

"Dastakina," Figgins interrupted.

"Has requested to meet with you privately."

"I bet she has," Figgins said lewdly.

"Indeed, sir," Fillion turned away. The two silently endured the remainder of the trip to Prime Palace, the conveniently alliterated title of what used to be Figgins' summer house before the Invisinoid scourge usurped him.

Zim was having a pretty good day. After driving into empty space for the better part of an hour, though, he realized he had no idea where Zimplanet was. Glancing at the key, Zim discovered coordinates carefully engraved on the key's head.

"Good job, Zim! You truly are an amazing specimen!" he complimented himself, bored. He set a course for Zimplanet, absentmindedly humming that obnoxious melody GIR had invented a year and a half previously. "You sure have come a long way, Zim."

Against his better judgment, Zim couldn't help but miss GIR. Of course the little deviant had been just one of the Tallests many mockeries of him, the fools. Nonetheless, he had been something of a friend.

"I've no need for friends! I am an Ir- Invisinoid-" Zim glanced about, as paranoid as he was stupid, "Emperor! I am no weak..." he struggled for an adjective. "...**DIRT! **like the Tallests!"

He then turned and stared blankly into the empty vacuum of the universe he ruled.

"You unbelievable asshole, Fourier!" Red turned, his anger boiling over. "You and your stupid stupidity!"

"What? I made a judgment call!"

"A stupid one! You just gave the universe to Zim!"

"He seemed like a very competent Invisinoid... which I guess isn't going to help our planet much..." Fourier began to realize Red had a point.

"He's not an Invisinoid! He's an Irken! He was cloaking himself!" Red cried exasperatedly.

"Then how did he get here?"

"That's not import-"

"We brought him here to sabotage the Competition!" Purple chimed in. Red glared at him. "What? No point in hiding it now."

"Oh..." Fourier stared in shock, unable to reply. The gravity of his stupid decision was beginning to sink in.

"What we need to do now is attack! If you give us back the Irken Empire, and promise us Intergalactic Supremacy, we can protect you," Red bargained.

"Technically so could the Val-"

"No they couldn't,"

"Yes they-"

Red looked menacingly down at Fourier, casting a terrifying shadow upon the vain little creature.

"...Fine. Herat, send the message."

"We need to get off this rock first," Red followed up. "Judges!" he called. "We need to fix the Proctors' ship... and Herat, in your message..."

Herat looked up, forcing back a grin. Something exciting was finally happening.

"Tell them the Irkens and Proctors are at war with the Invisinoids."

The walls of Prime Palace's third floor parlor, nicknamed the Blue Room because Figgins liked to sulk there, were red and rather confining, Figgins reflected as his guards shut the door behind him. In the corner, he could see the near-camouflaged, slim back of Dastakina. She poured him a drink, anticipating him, before doing the same for herself.

She slunk towards Figgins seductively, handing him the glass. "Didn't win this year, huh?" Was she mocking him?

"I'd appreciate it if we didn't speak about it," Figgins looked downcast.

"Okay. But I don't know if I want to marry the Valusian who let the empire go to hell."

"That's very funny. You don't mean that?" Figgins drank nervously.

"Oh, of course not dear!" she laughed.

"You seem... different than when I left," Figgins remarked cautiously.

"So who did win?" she added conversationally, although Figgins felt she was interrogating him.

"It wasn't my fault I lost, my pie just disappeared! So did all the other emperors'!"

"Really? Then who did win?" Dastakina looked on, intrigued.

"Some new guy, an Invisinoid. His name was Zam, or- no, it was definitely Zim!" he decided.

"Zim?" Dastakina looked up intently at Figgins. "...How odd."

"Is it getting hot in here? Maybe we should go find a balcony-"

"Oh, you're not leaving," Dastakina's tentative smile dropped. Figgins was now at 100%. She was going to kill him. "I knew you were stupid, but I can't believe how much you've completely screwed everything!"

"Including you," he nervously grasped at humor. _Find a blunt instrument! _

The remark only made the anger in her eyes all the less subtle.

He nervously moved towards the wine glasses on the pretense of refilling and not being conscious of this rather impromptu assassination attempt. If she came close, he could break a glass and attack her. For now, he refilled his glass.

"To think I believed this would be easy! Of course something had to go wrong, it always does!" she was now talking to herself.

"Well, if you're planning to kill me, I'd say you're looking at a fairly positive outcome," in his last minutes, Figgins suddenly gained some self-assurance, which was rather rewarding for such an insecure failure of an emperor. Dastakina was taken aback by his bluntness.

"I don't mean that, you idiot! I mean my plans for conquest, complete, deserved conquest! You're going to die anyways, so I might as well tell you I was going to kill you once you won. But you just had to make things harder on me!" it didn't feel like she was talking to him with her last statement, but rather to some other wrongdoer. Figgins clutched a bottle tightly as he caught his first glimpse of Dastakina's holstered firearm.

"I always did have a weakness for beautiful women," Figgins admitted.

Dastakina scoffed before whipping out her pistol and nailing Figgins right in the head. His raised bottle fell from his lifeless hands a second before he accompanied it on the floor. Blue, viscous blood mixed with the alcohol. His murderer wasted no time in prying the key to his private quarters off of him.

Dastakina exited the room and handed money to three of the four guards watching the door. "He did it," she pointed offhandedly at the fourth, who was taken, amidst his surprised, angry shouting, to prison by the other three. Turning on her heel, she marched towards the stairs._ Stairs, _she scoffed. She would replace those later.

Two floors later, she found the entrance to Figgins' quarters. Inside, seven other Valusian women sat on beds, their children wandering about. Disgustedly, Dastakina realized Figgins was planning to have an orgy that night. Without a word, she accessed a console on the wall.

"Oh Teala?" she asked, referring to the head of the Palace Guard. "There are intruders in my room. Please escort them to jail."

"You can't do that!" One of the women spoke up as Teala's voice agreed on the other end. "Figgins won't allow it-"

"I KILLED FIGGINS!" Dastakina exclaimed melodramatically, so as to really shock the others.

It worked.

The shuffle of guards' feet became clearer as they marched towards Dastakina's location. Held at her gunpoint, the wives and children left the room, directly into the arms of the guards.

"I'd like to address my people," she informed the captain. "Where can I send a broadcast?" she asked, knowing full well where to go.

"Up one flight, seventh door on the right is the broadcast room," the captain replied. As the guards and their prisoners left, Dastakina made haste for the room.

She found the room in a sordid state, but nevertheless functional. She pressed a button, turning on a screen with her face upon it. The rest of the frame depicted her surroundings; she was now speaking directly to her new people.

"People of Valus!" she cried. "In his dying breath, yes, dying, Valus Prime Figgins asked for me to take his place. He was shot earlier today by a member of the nefarious Angry People. I regret this loss profusely, but we must not despair. In the next few days, many changes are going to be made in the way this empire is run. Yes, empire, for at this moment I am commanding all troops who have not evacuated the Medius System to stand your ground against the Invisinoids! That is all for now," she finished.

It had been an exhausting day for the Valusian emperor. Locking her new living space so no one would disturb her for the night, an odd transformation came over the slender Valusian woman- she shrunk to less than a third of her size, her body almost folding in on itself. Her horns disappeared, replaced by slender, less obtuse antennae. Her tail disappeared, and a glowing metal half-sphere switched places with her back spikes. Her round, dinosaur-like visage became a pointed, pentagonal, and green face. Gloves, a purple, lined shirt, and jet black combat boots appeared where there was once an elegant blue dress.

Tak's purple eyes shone brilliantly. _You won't win this time, Zim._


	9. 8: Exposition, Part 1

**The 401,278th Intergalactic Supremacy Pie Competition of Doom**

**Chapter 8: Exposition, Part 1**

"Where the hell is Roca?" Dir bellowed. Dust erupted to his his left. _Deep breaths._

"I don't think he's gonna show up!" Rik hollered back. Quickly he vaulted a pile of debris, firing a steady barrage of laser-missiles.

"For fuck's sake!" Dir replied. "Did he just send us here to get killed?"

The horde of Valusian warriors surged over the Ficktyfick Mountains, the nesting grounds of the experimental weaponry lab Red wanted gone.

Of course Dir had been sent. Of course, he had been handpicked with about fifty others who know flanked him, but being an ass, he liked to view himself as particularly put-upon.

He was shot and killed, of course.

"Oh hell!" Rik exclaimed as Dir exploded onto the rubble. In some other reality, Squadron Leader Bit gave the whistle for a synchronized assault. Fumbling, Rik set his gun to 20 seconds.

The horde advanced.

20 planets at least he'd been to now. The Valusians were rightfully quite tenacious about keeping the Medius, and for two years now the fight raged on. The Feronians had flooded the north quadrant, the RVG was united, and the Resisty... Rik shuddered.

In that instant, he was snapped from his speculation as his Explodey-doo brand pulse ultra missile laser launcher (PUMLL) fired. Dozens of similar bursts howled towards the cliffs, their photons or bonds or whatever shifting, breaking down, and reforming into one big Explodey-doo. The cliffs erupted in light and dust. Through the thick haze, it was clear the brunt of the weapons nest had been cleared.

"Forward!" Bit whistled. The army hoisted itself from the ground in uncanny unison, bringing the company to trudge through the blackened wasteland. Ascending the cliff, a greater view of the tiny plant became evident: massive forest had been cleared by advancing military patrols, but in the distance, when Rik squinted, he thought he saw a little patch of green; a remnant of what once was.

The laboratory, from its exterior, left something to be desired. It stood as an irregular, ugly cylinder stretched awkwardly upon the craggy ground.

"Stow your PUMLLs. Switch to lasrifles in case of ambush," Bit spoke clearly, hardly having use for the communications system installed specifically in his patrol's suits.

Bit crept to the front of the cylinder, tentatively, rapping on the metal for an entrance. Eventually, his hand flicked the metal, and a larger, hollow sound undulated from the structure. "Here!" he called out. "Load the charges!" he turned to two very stressed looking soldiers who carried one large bomb between themselves.

Trembling, the two punched in the key to arm the bomb. "Everybody back up!" Bit warned as the bomb emitted a light beeping noise. The two soldiers hauled the bomb to the spot, then fled abruptly towards the others, who were clear of the blast zone.

Once more the gray, dusty sky was illuminated briefly. Bit uncovered his eyes to watch as the bomb's corrosive properties overcame the secret entrance. Child's play, really. What where these Valusians hiding so poorly?

Privately, Bit tapped Rik on the shoulder. "Hang back. Keep a few men with you. If we don't come out soon, or if I give the signal, follow me in. Understood?"

Rik nodded blankly, still deeply fazed by the events of the battle. "You!" he moved his arm in a circle to address the dozen standing behind him. "We've been ordered to hang back." The soldiers wearily lowered their weapons.

Up ahead, Bit flicked his wrist, indicating his battalion follow him in. Rik watched as Bit entered the structure, and waited until the entire squad had entered before allowing himself any rest. He now rubbed his temple furtively.

"Anyone for a game of Skyscraper?" a sultry voice called. In his hand he held the Irken equivalent of a pack of cards. Rik settled down quickly as the cards were dealt. The four others involved in the game hurriedly spat cards from their hand into a pile.

"Aka," one remarked weakly, as he placed a card marked with an 8 and the picture of a rusty sword. Then the pile was split in half, the players swapped hands. Rapidly, cards were thrown down once more. Rik made a false move; the two piles were merged.

"Three Qs," the Akabrate (the Irken term for Aka-caller) remarked, spreading his remaining hand.

"12 fives," Rik proclaimed, trumping him.

"Thrown," the one directly to Rik's left discarded his hand into the central pile.

"Thrown."

"Eight eights," the one who had brought the cards, Spit, remarked, placing each card deliberately so each was perfectly fitted horizontally against the last. Rik noted his minute readjustments of the configuration after each was placed.

"Damn."

"Akaka," Spit smiled weakly.

It was then Rik became aware of what he'd been hearing nonstop for the last two minutes: "Sir, its gone!"

"Hmm? What are you yammering on about?"

"Sorry sir. It's just... it's gone!" Rik cast a glance at where the grunt pointed. His mouth fell open. Where there once stood a cylindrical laboratory outpost, a large crater which split the mountain in half had appeared.

"Sir... the sky. It's clear. Where are the stars?" the soldier questioned meekly as Rik, too, gazed into the emptiness he'd somehow stumbled into.

* * *

"That's TWO PATROLS lost today!"

"I'm aware of that, mistress-"

"No, I don't think you are, you sniveling little ingrate! I want every last Feronian off of my Varelus-given property!"

"Yes, miss Dastakina-"

"THAT'S EMPRESS!" Tak shrieked back at Fillion.

"Empress," he nodded curtly before fleeing the room.

Huffily, the ex-not-quite-invader-turned-ruler-of-Valus stepped onto the balcony overlooking the floating Central City her current fortress occupied. Twice now she'd been moved, but even she, amidst all her self-promoting and delusional ways, knew the undying tenacity of her enemies. The seat of her power was no longer Valus; she now gazed upon the planet Crik from her Sky Fortress.

"That stupid Fillion! Remind me to kill him, Mimi," Tak spat, venomous but idle. She looked from the balcony at the miles high propaganda plastering her (Valusian-disguised) face on the side of the Crik General Monument Tower; this same poster was inserted on every building and flying taxi. It read: "Dastakina is grayt," accompanied by an aggressively winking cartoon smiley face.

It was poorly made, but Tak still felt her pride spike each time she gazed at it (which was quite often, due to her egomaniacal tendencies). And her spirits fell just a little every time she realized Mimi was no longer with her. She had always been a faithful servant. Not like Fillion.

"Why do I keep him around anyways, Mimi?" Tak found that sometimes, it was easier to pretend Mimi was just hiding, playing a game with her. It was a strange emotion... attachment. Not based on fear, or the desire to advance herself up the ladder of success. Not like with the Tallests. Not like sex. Not like the begrudging gratitude she had towards Fillion for his occasional stroke of slightly-better-than-subpar thinking.

His blockade of Zimplanet, for one, had been a very good idea.

* * *

"Allar!" First Executive Riordan alerted his ruler.

"Pause this, Jitney," Teri lazily commanded. Jitney flicked a button, and the various news screens and war footage broadcast upon an array of screens halted.

"Come with me. There's something you have to see."

Teri had come to realize early on in her war campaign not to let her ego control her. Tactfully, she isolated her and her trusted affiliates in a meager bunker on an even less remarkable asteroid. The closest anyone had come to her base was a lone Resisty cruiser, a hundred miles off. Because of this, Teri tried to avoid the bringing of anything at all remarkable directly to her. "What is it?" she said, half scolding her trusted advisor.

"Don't worry, we haven't brought it to dock. I'm in live video conference now with our lead technicians now."

"Dock? How big is this thing?" Teri stood, relieved and intrigued now.

"Just come with me, you'll see."

The door to the conference room slid open. Teri navigated around the circular table reserved for war planning and addressed the screen. "Theo."

"Ah, always good to speak to you, Miss Supreme Allar, yes, very good," the Feronian scientist was jittery, as usual. He seemed to be standing next to some sort of feral animal, who was locked behind thinly distanced rays of pure heat.

"Theo. What is it?"

"The first question is where did it come from?"

There was a pause. Teri craned her head forward and nodded in recognition. Silence pervaded. "...um, where did it come from?" she asked finally.

"Excellent question!" Theo plucked up instantly. "I observed earlier this week that a large vacuum had been produced in the G Sector of the Urdi System. I knew this could only mean one of two things: A large amount of matter had been destroyed, or nobody noticed the giants of Giantia lost their vacuum."

Theo thought that joke was the funniest thing he ever said. He laughed raucously before running out of breath and promptly dying. There was a reason laughter was prohibited among Feronians.

"Um. It was the former," a new scientist was now speaking. "We investigated, and discovered that a planet that once was- and an important one at that, it would seem- was no more."

"Relsie! It was called- Relsie! But that was years ago- and yet, it just happened!" the creature spoke up. "My team- scientists- we were there to guard it! And then, then- it malfunctioned!"

"What is this thing talking about?" Teri asked, concerned. She gave out a brief scream. The thing was looking up at her, and she realized why she hadn't recognized its species; the Valusian standing before her had nervously gnawed and torn clumps of its very skin off.

"We were so close! So, so-" Then the thing- for it was no longer Valusian- gave a pitiful shriek, and clutched its head. As if to offset the pain, Teri witnessed the horrific thing sink its teeth into its foot. She saw bone protruding from it, and nearly wretched. The hideous beast before her actually did. For th first time, Teri realized the source of the brown, dried material the animal was standing upon.

"It's been like this with him since we found him. We've run tests on him, but nothing's come back."

"How did you find it?"

"Unconscious, and floating in space. Said he was in a laboratory on the planet, but they'd left him," the scientist cast a mournful eye on the thing. "We think he may have- eaten- the others."

"Oh," Feronians had no gods, so Teri settled on adding a less affecting "Shit," to express her horror. "...Kill him."

"What?"

"Now! Right now! I don't want to look at that thing! It's obviously crazy!" she protested.

"Yes, ma'am."

"There was a golden rainbow. I met myself. He was unhappy..." the creature was muttering as the scientist warily reached towards it, syringe in hand. Two others had helped restrain it.

"Turn it off," Teri replied. It was done.

"That Valusian- it would have eaten itself alive."

"It already seemed like it had," was all Teri could think to say.

* * *

"Damn it damn it DAMN IT!" Red screamed fervently. So much loss... first channel 14050393, then channel 2352344, and now.. this. This unfathomable loss.

"That... that's everything! Right there that... but..." Purple was almost in tears. "Are you telling me... ARE YOU TELLING ME?!... that its all gone?"

"I... I suppose-" Purple exploded into a fit of tears. Every TV in the Massive had officially stopped working.

"Shh... it'll be all right."

"Like hell it will be!"

"I know, I know... we'll make it through... somehow."

Purple sniffed. "Can we..."

"What is it?"

"Can we send a large battalion of irken warriors to their doom?"

"I don't know if that's-"

Purple collapsed again.

"Okay. Would you like that?" Purple nodded. "Okay, if it'll make you fell better."

"You... you're my best friend, Red," Purple sniffed.


	10. 9: 'Cause There Aren't Enough Characters

**The 401,278th Intergalactic Supremacy Pie Competition of Doom!**

**Chapter 9: 'Cause There Aren't Enough Characters**

"And this thing... is operational?" he tried to keep the excitement from his voice. This project had already failed twice before.

"Yes! Yes... it must," a gloved hand rapped on the hull affectionately. "Sturdy as a-"

Just then the whole thing fell apart.

"DAMN! I knew that fig leaves weren't proper adhesive!" the same gloved hand now pounded a nearby card table for dramatic effect. "But no! The board!" he scowled, turning to the chalkboard that resided next to the table, covered on both sides in complex calculations. "When it speaks to me, oh yes, we have some crazy times, but it always leads me astray-"

"Professor? How long have you been awake?"

"Hmm? 57 hours, sir! Nothing must stand in the way of science!" the gloved hand began to shake.

"Jesus! When was the last time you saw your children?"

"Children? What are children? WAIT!" the gloved hand now clutched a piece of chalk. A second gloved hand now rubbed off a drawing of a fig leaf from the board. A third, experimental (for the time being) arm scratched the scalp nestled underneath a flamboyant lightning bolt of hair. "Of course! Gorilla!"

"-Gorilla glue, Professor?"

"Nay! Fetch me twenty gorillas, and I shall give you," he breathed, "the first proper, transdimensional-travel-capable Earth spacecraft!"

"Maybe the shape of the thing is causing some of these problems," a stupider underling of the professor's remarked, obviously having not heard his superior mention the use of gorillas to glue together a spaceship.

"Preposterous! It must be shaped this way!"

"Because of the name?"

"Yes, blast it! The Pie in the Sky will fly! And it will be shaped like a pie and it will be in the sky and it will fly and it will be clever!" Professor Membrane slumped into a chair.

The government man, obviously believing that the whole project had been given to madmen, walked over to Membrane. "You've had a long couple of days. Rest. Take some time off. Spend it with your kids."

"My kids are dummies," Membrane replied sleepily.

"Well, I'm paying your salary, and I'm giving you a week off."

"Mmmyessir," Membrane shut his eyes. In a matter of seconds he was asleep.

* * *

"'What do you know? Where are you hiding your clan?' I said to him, then I nicked him- not stabbed- with my penknife. Then I took my gloved hand, which was covered in salt-"

Professor Membrane absentmindedly stirred his soup, not listening to his crazy son's musings.

"Dad! I need more batteries for my Game Slave," Gaz whined, looking up from the device for the first time during that meal.

Membrane casually generated two batteries out of thin air, a very advanced scientific thing he programmed his glove to do, specifically for this reason.

"Gaz, why don't you go outside?" The professor asked. Gaz hissed. "Very well," the professor stood up, defeated. "I suppose I'll idle and create a few new scientific breakthroughs."

Professor Membrane was certainly an enigma on Earth. He was human, yet had an intellect and know-how on par with any Vortian. Of course, like any human, he had his flaws. He was inherently stubborn, and didn't like to listen to anybody but himself (hence his insistence on using gorillas in the construction of the Pie in the Sky); this was met equally with his occasional obvious oversight of basic concepts (such as using nails and not glue, gorilla or fig leaf based or otherwise, in constructing a spaceship).

"I think I'm going to take Tak's ship out for a cruise around Venus," Dib hopped up, addressing his sister. The Professor was also incredibly unobservant. He had never in the three years since Tak's ship's repair so much as glanced at the thing, which was taking up the majority of his garage. In his defense, it was regularly covered in a blue tarp.

"You go and do that, son," Professor Membrane replied. Three years now his son had slipped further down the crazy slope of crazy, as the Psychology P. (who were constantly calling Membrane's work 'traumatizing' and 'nightmarish') had called it. For three years now, without that little foreigner to chase after, Dib's crazy had become unfocused and dangerous, as the Professor would have known if he listened to the boy speak.

"You wanna come with?" Dib asked. "You have nothing better to do, after all."

"No, son, because your spaceship is a figment of your delusional insanity."

"You don't want to make me sic my bigfeets on you?" Dib intoned innocently, not knowing that the creature he'd long been interrogating (read: abnormally hairy teenager he'd been torturing) would probably kill him, afforded the chance to escape his restraints.

"Um. Lead the way," Membrane hung his head slightly. This would at least be good for a laugh. Very little made him laugh these days.

* * *

"Tall-y, this is embarrassing," Red rubbed his temple, assessing exactly what went wrong, with him, his empire, and his war campaign, that made this meeting necessary.

All across the planet's surface, large sheets of wire frame stretched into the sky. Granite and processed cement mixture clung to the half finished skeleton- construction had halted way back when the Petty Wars began, which was almost four Irken months, or two Standard Universe Time (SUT) years ago. Luckily the frozen development and subsequent skeleton-like nature of the planet's surface was not symbolic; the resources- and more importantly, the inhabitants- had not not been picked entirely clean.

"How could we- I mean, we did a cannon sweep and everything-" Red muttered to himself. He and Purple were slowly descending a long, elevator-like tube that extended from their dropship. Turning his head downwards, Red watched a large throng of creatures coalesce, pulling themselves from the cleverly hidden burrows that pockmarked the surface.

"We really should have counted on them hiding from their imminent destruction. Perhaps if we used a toxic smoke machine-" Purple began.

"No, damn it! Lasers have always worked! Everybody loves lasers! Let's just be glad we didn't kill all of the creatures we enslaved, and that they were too stupid to know about the Resisty," Red shuddered as he once more spoke more to himself than his present company. He'd spotted what he was looking for, what he'd come for, and could no longer concentrate on Purple's nonsensical and ill-informed opinions.

For you see, amidst the deep purple hues of Blorch's indigenous Slaughtering Rat People, a small green head, appropriately lifted above two particularly large creatures, had materialized.

The elevator-tube receded as the Tallests were plopped out a few dozen feet from the surface. Red dusted himself off, noted the need for recalibration or else complete scrapping of the primitive machine, and looked up. Purple threw a silent tantrum. The elevator machine was _embarrassing _him!

"Hello there, Skoodge," Red cast a look of askance upon the tiny Irken, resplendent in an amethyst-upon-gold crown. He must not let the silly looking thing know he held all the cards in this metaphorical game of Parcheesi (an Irken card game wholly dissimilar to the game played on Earth, which rather oddly resembled the exact situation about to unfold, if you view the toilet plungers in the game as a metaphor for nostrils).

"Hi!" Skoodge chirped, sliding off his perch. He was so hilariously tiny. The Tallests pushed his head down a couple of times, laughing as the Irken beamed.

"You have been granted the honor of using your SRPs in glorious conquest for the good of your empire!" Red began. "After an unfortunately suicidal and completely unavoidable mission we sent a gracious chunk of our soldiers on, we have been looking to expand our army."

Ratmaster Skoodge turned towards the hulking, terrifying beasts, and in a tone of command spoke: "Dgfdhg sadfdfbh ksss sdgcd."

"Sfdsdfscvdf sfdsgc fggtjk?" one of the rats who had carried him on his shoulder asked.

"Dsfsfas fdsgfdsfxz," Skoodge replied. A long conference between the horde was now underway.

Skoodge's story of conquest was a funny one, even if he had, in fact, never conquered the Rat People, so to speak. The Rats, upon Skoodge's arrival, being incredibly smart for a barbaric and primitive race, instantly saw through his rather terrible disguise (Skoodge had dressed in a massive purple tube sock) and understood the implications of a warmongering, high-ranking Irken lieutenant. Of course, trying to use the thing's fake conquest as a political and diplomatic tool, instead of using his death to engineer a war they knew they would lose, turned out to be a mistake, as the Cannon Sweep demonstrated.

Now that the Tallests needed them, however, it was all the more important to keep up the facade. The Irkens could protect what was left of the race.

Skoodge, oblivious to all this, liked the Rat People, as they were the only people who hadn't tried to kill him or send him into untold and terrible danger within the first few minutes of knowing him: Zim, the Tallests, Tenn, Tak, even the robotic arm what birthed him were all guilty of this infraction. When the Tallests sent him back to Blorch after his conquest, who was he to say no?

The Tallests stood awkwardly as the First Non-Cannibalism Congregation of Blorch continued (Most of Blorchian politics revolved around somebody eating somebody, after all).

Finally, "What task do you have for us?" Skoodge asked.

The two Tallests looked up, relief and bewilderment shining obviously in their eyes. Skoodge, ever the loyal soldier, nodded curtly to the two, answering their unspoken questions.

"Skoodge, are you familiar with the Galvonian Second Wave Project?"

* * *

_Two SUT months later..._

"The Irkens seem to have stepped up their game," a menacing voice considered stoically.

"Yes indeed! We still beat 'em though, didn't we!" Shloonktapooxis chirped.

"Correct. First we decimate them at this, 'Super Battle Galaxy Battle Super Fighters V Ultra Supreme Kicking Ultra,' and then... 'Super Battle Galaxy Battle Super Fighters V Ultra Supreme Kicking Ultra II Kicking Punching Electromega!'" The disgruntled Vortian engineer screamed triumphantly. After all, online video gaming feuds were, in his mind, just as important as intergalactic conquest/retribution.

"And then at the domination of the universe?" Shloonktapooxis asked simply, accidentally trying to get his boss to focus.

"Yeah, yeah, sure, whatever, ANOTHER GAME IS STARTING SHUT UP! HERE WE GO! HEEEERE WE GOO!" Lard Nar continued to shout at nothing as his hand reached into the bowl of chips the two were splitting.

Is it any wonder that the Resisty were, in what was becoming known as the Second Phase of the Petty Wars, considered the greatest terrorist threat to the Warring Empires?


	11. 10: Malcontents

**The 401,278****th**** Intergalactic Supremacy Pie Competition of DOOM!**

**Chapter 10: Malcontents**

Fillion weighed down the corners of a long roll of parchment- a star chart- on the cobalt surface that stood in the middle of Dastakina's War Room. The primitive paper-and-pencil method of documentation was initially looked upon with skepticism by her lieutenants, as he recalled, until digital Irken war plans had been stolen by Valusian information smugglers.

"Kohm, help me weigh down the edges of this map," Fillion commanded a gruff looking Valusian general. Kohm looked irritated, but Fillion knew he knew better than to object to Dastakina's Most Trusted, if not Only Trusted, advisor. He'd seen his brothers beheaded for lesser crimes against the empire than that.

Fillion slipped the top-left corner into the corresponding slit, which was carved delicately out of the bottom of an stationary iron paperweight. Kohm followed suit, and the two were finished with the task upon Dastakina's arrival.

Her entrance, as it happened, saw the men around the table rise quickly to their feet in salute; on the left stood Commander Generals Hauberk, Filu, and Gentry, and on the right Kohm, Ilix, and Ubeder. Fillion himself was stationed in the seat next to Dastakina's at the end of the cobalt slab.

"Ease," the empress intoned. The most obedient did as she told before the word left her mouth. Her heels clicked obtrusively across the polished floor, accentuating the respectful silence. Her slim figure was in sharp contrast to that of Fillion's. She was slender, light cherry red in pigment, and her flesh smoother even than most females. Her beauty was both figuratively and literally illusive, although the coarse, dark, and rather chunky Valusian Advisor did not realize this. Of course, Fillion hungered not for her in the way the late Figgins had; most common Valusians desired little more than two wives in their lifetime, though Fillion was content with his one, Galie. He could not be so certain of some of the generals, however.

"What is this doing out?" Dastakina pointed to the star chart.

"You requested it, Madame Supreme Empress," Fillion mentally checked off each title Dastakina had requested he address her by.

"Relinquish it. I've a much more obscure target in mind."

That was another thing- Dastakina's brusqueness. And fickleness. And her altogether fearsome aspect. Fillion didn't dare a sexual thought towards her out of fear she could read minds.

"I want a fleet, led by Filu and Kohm and overseen by myself personally, of a good 40 warships, 30 Kenga Runners and 10 Command Hulls."

"Where do you wish to send these ships?" Filu spoke, formality masking his pride. He was young, but proven, having personally delivered the heads of several high-ranking members of the Angry People.

"Coordinates 410.F.66°V441," she recited in Designation Standard, the mapping system used throughout the galaxy.

Fillion raised his eyebrow. "But that's on the far reaches of the known universe! What is it that you wish to attack?"

"A most nefarious place, men. It is known simply... as Earth."

The very name sent chills throughout the War Room.

* * *

The gold-and-black shield of the Resisty shone on the side of a traditionally boxy Alpha-Class Vort warship: the Fist of Rebelliousness, as it was grandiosely christened by its captain. Parts of the surrounding fleet had been greatly damaged, and the Fist itself had several clear marks left by laser burns and radiation deterioration. The fleet's ships now numbered in the hundred thousands, down from the millions it had had amassed only a few short hours ago. Lard Nar had risked _millions _of lives, all for one lousy, ungrateful scientist!

"But I don't wanna!" the ex-convict cried pitifully, his shoulders dropping in defeat at his sides. Lard Nar noticed as the scientist's now-infamous white lab coat, one of the few remaining from Pre-Irken-Occupied Vort and now too large for the thinner, starved ex-convict, slipped over his left shoulder and revealed a pulsating red scar bearing the number '777.'

Lard Nar seized the opportunity. "Would you rather go back to them? To prison? You see what they've done to you!" he pointed at the scar, "And more importantly, what _we've_ done for you. Two years I've grown this army just to save you! Don't forget, I barely got out of there myself! I know Jeb isn't your best friend in the world-"

"I hate him," 777 replied uselessly.

"-But you've got to aid the Resisty! We have to fight back! Your first act of rebellion came when you turned the Massive against itself! Think of what you and Jeb, the two greatest minds we have on our side, can do!"

"Do you remember our time on Outpost W?"

"Yeah, when-"

"Yes, we both know what happened. You're my friend, Lardy. Please don't let this get out of hand."

The two Vortians stared at each other for a great deal of time. Following his rescue, 777, or Defa Ri, as was his birth name, had been briefed on what was _expected_ of him by his "Lord and Savior", as payment for the Resisty's good deeds.

Even locked in the maximum security prison that Vort had largely become, an idiot could tell the universe was at war with itself. And Vort was crammed with genius engineers and couch technicians. Lessening guards, reduced food, the banter of inmates and patrolmen alike: these and dozens of other trends were quickly analyzed by Ri's high-functioning synapses.

"You have work to do. My men will escort you to the lab," Lard Nar finally replied, suppressing a sneer. As a purple-hooded figure of a species unknown to Defa and a green-and-black-striped Crele all but forcibly shoved him towards the labs, one bitter thought tugged at the Vortian's mind:

_This place is just another prison._

As Defa Ri exited the bridge, Lard Nar turned towards a wiry, bespectacled female Screwhead; she was his autobiographer.

"New title idea: _A Resistory: The Life and Times of Lard Nar._"

"Resistory?"

"Yeah, like... you know, 'history' and 'Resisty', smooshed together in one word," he 'smooshed' his hands together for emphasis.

"Oh, a portmanteau," she replied dryly.

"You don't like it?"

"No, no, it's good. It's good."

"It's stupid," he replied shamefacedly.

"Whatever you say, sir," she replied, scratching it off a long list of failed titles.

* * *

"Look, maybe you don't understand the scope of-"

"Are yee cawlin' me an idjut, lawk sum kinda turist?!" several tall, sunglass-clad men raised their guns tentatively, ready to dispose of the good professor.

"No sir. I just don't see what we gain by militarizing-"

"Yoo sayin' our militry is bayd? I cud shoowt you fur that! Ime jes sayin, if we only naw have it thunked up, thems Chinamen've gut it bilt! You wanna let them Commies beat us?" the President sat back in his chair and folded his arms. His secret servicemen nodded in agreement, as if he'd made some profound point.

"We already have one ship. We could build entire fleets of these things in a few months-"

"Thayn do eet! But givum big laserguns. Pshew!" he made a little gun with his pointer and thumb.

"But we should be using these so Earth as a whole can explore the far reaches of the galaxy!"

"I tawld yu to makum! Now doit the rawt way or I'll take away yur funding!"

Professor Membrane sighed. "Yes sir."

"Yu tayk cair and God bless," the President replied formally, but the professor was already out the door.

"Damn it!" Dib expressed as the Professor, Gaz, and he sat on a blanket under a plexiglass dome. He bit into his sandwich.

"It is not your fault, son. I only wish the government wanted what we do for your discovery," he sighed deeply, gazing over the rolling hills of Venus. "It's good to get away like this."

"Oh crap! Don't you have to be at work?" Dib asked, alarmed at the time.

"Right now I don't want to be anywhere, son... But you are right. SCIENCE! waits for no man."

* * *

Tak gazed listlessly into the void from the large, spherical window that made up the wall of the Command Hull's bridge. Machines whirred and hummed below her perch as a host of Valusian navigators maintained the ship's destination. Two days now the ship had been on course for Earth. Two days for the two years she'd gained spent gaining the unquestioning loyalty of her people.

"Dastakina," he came to her as she knew he would. He, the only disbeliever. Still, she counted on weak, cunning little Fillion to remain unerringly subservient. He had a wife to think about.

"Yes, Fillion," she intoned, already expectant of his next words, and already bored with them.

"What is the real reason we are invading Earth? What is there that you hope to gain?"

"Fillion, you remember Zim, the Ir...nvisinoid?" she asked.

"It's impossible to forget, my lady," he replied, struggling to remember. Then it hit him. _Ah yes._ "You let me live-"

"Little over two years ago your blockade brought an end to him. But on Earth," she began, reciting another, easier lie, "The Invisinoids continue to thrive. Fillion, if one Invisinoid can topple the balance of power on the scale that this one did, think about what an entire planet of them is capable of!"

"What?!" Fillion looked astounded. "Why didn't we attack sooner?!"

"Why didn't they?" she replied mysteriously. "Zim arrived at Medius alone. Perhaps they weren't willing to follow him. Or perhaps they have been preparing their vengeance. It is possible Zim was a fluke, and they mean no harm. But they must be stopped."

Fillion furrowed his brow. "How will we know if they're still there?"

"Easy. All Invisinoids are fleshy, squishy, stupid little creatures."

"Yes, Miss Dastakina," Fillion replied, confused by this description. Still, it had been two years since she'd last spoken of the species, so maybe he'd never heard it said that they weren't invisible after all.

As he left her to stand alone on the bridge, once more overlooking the colossal vacuum of the universe, a dark thought crossed her mind.

_I didn't get to kill you, Zim. But I will take your victory from you._


End file.
